Knightfall
by Vampire-Angel-Z
Summary: Post TDKR, A battered and broken Bruce finds himself at John Blake's doorstep. There is no place he would rather be. Bruce/Blake.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Post TDKR, A battered and broken Bruce finds himself at John Blake's doorstep. There is no place he would rather be.

Disclaimer: Nolan and DC own everything.

* * *

"So..." John tries to sound casual. He fails, miserably.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. The kid is full of questions, so many damn questions. Brimming with them.

"Are you going to share with the rest of the class."

Bruce knows exactly where the kid is going with this, but he will be damned if he plays nice.

"You know," the kid, _John Blake, _what were his parents thinking? Giving him such a grown up name. A face that innocent shouldn't be linked to something like John Fucking Blake, "If I ever need to survive an atomic bomb or whatever."

"Like I am ever going to let that happen." Slips out before Bruce can help it.

Rachel Dawes once said that the man she loved never came back, but Bruce knows better. He came back, alright. Dying. Slowly. Traces of the beautiful little boy Martha Wayne gave birth to are disappearing. All that's left is _him. _The demon inside. The idiot who insists on dressing up like a giant bat every night. The idiot who gets stronger every breathing second. He slips out every now and then. Takes over Bruce. Overpowers him. Bruce is a spoiled prince, a playboy, barely a man. He shouldn't have to worry about Batman taking over. He shouldn't.

It's not fair.

John Blake – again with the name – is kind enough, or perhaps oblivious enough to let Batman's comment pass. He lets Bruce get away with the slip. "How did you do it?"

"You complaining?"

"No," Those eyes soften. "No, I am not."

"Then shut up."

The kid does as he is told. He always does, and starts all over again a few hours later. Bruce can see why Gordon made him detective at such a young age. John Blake is the kind of persistent you find in old Agatha Christie novels. The kind of patience you get frustrated with, and then endeared, and then frustrated again. The kid would have been commissioner some day if he had only stuck to it. Dumbass quit for some reason. Bruce scoffs. Kids these days. No ambition.

He has been holed up in the kid's apartment for the past two months. Eating his food. Drinking his beer (when he is not looking – _pain meds and alcohol don't mix Bruce.) _and hogging his bed. The last one isn't Bruce's fault. Apparently it's bad manners to let a guest sleep on the couch. Where does an orphan learn manners anyway? Does John Blake have an Alfred?

"You should rest." Kind eyes, Gordon's eyes. Rachel's eyes. Alfred's eyes. Tired eyes. How does a kid so young have such tired eyes? _We have that effect on people. _Bruce thinks hysterically to Batman. _We tire them out._

_Not all of them. _God, Bruce hates Batman's voice. _Selena understood us._

Bruce doesn't want to think about her. Doesn't want the possibility of a life with a woman who will nurture the real him. She is possibly his soul-mate. The answer to every question. Bruce/Batman/Please God don't let there be Others won't suck the life out of her.

Bruce won't go there. He won't think about their future together. Their harmonious relationship and the compatibility and the kids and the white picket fence.

_I won't let you have her. _Bruce thinks viciously to Batman. _Neither one of us deserves a happy ending. _

Batman shrugs from his designated corner in Bruce's mind. _Our loss. _

"Bruce?" The kid looks worried. He is always worried.

"What?" the man snaps, annoyed. He was having a conversation. Batman isn't much of a talker, but he _gets _Bruce, like no one does. For eight years, all Bruce has had for company is his masked friend. It's hard to get used to human presence.

"You should rest." John has brought blankets from the bedroom. His bedroom that Bruce has taken over, with his wounds, and blood, and pus. _Pus is good. It means we are healing. _

_Shut up. _Bruce tells Batman. _I don't want to talk any more. _

Another shrug. For a bossy fucker, Batman sure does casual disturbingly well.

"I don't have anywhere to go." Bruce says.

That's not exactly true. Alfred and Gordon are obvious choices, but Bruce's steps led him to the kid's house. Finding out where he lived was easy enough. Ask any child on the street and they will go on and on about The Policeman who watches out for them (after they are done talking about Batman). John Blake is every Gotham orphan's big brother.

A sweet little boy (couldn't be more than seven. Seven years old and canvassing garbage for food. Jesus Christ...) was dumpster diving for the day and found Bruce.

It's something to be said about the child's self-preservation instincts that he chose to hang out with Bruce for the next hour and tell him all about Batman.

"Batman is the best. He is a hero. He saved us all." The boy had patiently explained. "Batman loves Gotham. He is our best friend. I love Batman."

"Batman loves you too." Bruce had said, because it felt like the polite thing to say.

The child had lit up, and then proceeded to share his apple with him. An inquiry about John Blake had been met with a blank stare but a general description had gotten him where he needed to.

If John Blake had been startled by the sight of one of his orphan friends delivering him a walking, bloody, bruised corpse that once upon a time, used to be Bruce Wayne he didn't show it. Kid should be getting his Oscar in the mail any day now.

"Thank you." John had smiled at Cody. "Help yourself."

The child had scampered inside and raided John's fridge while Bruce collapsed more out of sheer exhaustion than anything else.

"Jesus Bruce, you sure know how to make an entrance."

Bruce heaved out a laugh.

"It's okay Bruce." John didn't seem to mind blood stains on his carpet. _Alfred would have had a fit. _"Let's get you fixed up."

Broken ribs, his knee is more devoid of cartilage now than it ever was, his brain is the place you want to go to if you want scar tissue, but it's a tiny cut beside Bruce's mouth that John tended to most gently. "Just a little antiseptic, nothing more." The kid had whispered when the older man hissed.

Presently, John Blake makes a face at Bruce. "You are not going anywhere."

"How are you paying for all this?" Bruce wants to laugh at the thought of honorable John haggling with drug dealers for prescription meds. "You don't even have a job anymore. How are you feeding two people? Where did you find that doctor?"

Asking questions isn't Bruce's style. He is used to just _knowing _everything.

"I have a savings account, Bruce."John sounds exasperated, like he feels sorry for poor rich boy not understand how ordinary people work with what little money they have. "Although it is a pleasant surprise it's still there, considering everything that's happened."

Bane reamed Gotham. To call it destruction would be childish optimism.

"Call Gordon and ask for your job back. You need to pay the bills."

John gets this mulish look in his eyes which clearly says _it's not happening. _"I can't work there anymore."

"Don't tell me they fired you for trying to save a bus full of orphaned kids."

"When I," The kid pauses, as if bracing himself for what's about to come out of his mouth. "When I saw you die... The explosion, seeing you fly away forever..."

"I am right here," Bruce wants to shake John. "I am alive."

"I threw away my shield. It was too heavy to carry anymore."

"Pick it back up." Bruce's expression is of resignation. "Gotham needs you now more than ever. The condition this city is in, it's vital you get back out there and defend it from people who are just waiting to take advantage."

"This city needs Batman."

"Batman is dead." Bruce mutters, "They built that statue and everything."

"I will think about it." John's smile is small. "Gordon keeps asking me to rejoin. Something about never having enough hotheads."

"He got that part right."

John turns away too quickly for Bruce to see the faint reddening of his cheeks. But Batman sees it. _He _sees everything.

"What are you going to do?"

"Helping with construction. They need volunteers." John's shoulders are a tense line.

"And when the city is rebuilt?"

The unspoken answer hangs between them, awkwardly.

"Call Gordon." Bruce says.

"Will you train me?"

The look on Bruce is something John will never understand, or forget.

"When you get better, I mean."

Bruce says nothing.

"I will wear a mask." John adds quickly. "To protect the people close to me."

"I don't have those kinds of resources anymore. Those gadgets weren't free. The Bat alone cost..."

"We have the will." John cuts Bruce off before he can list nauseatingly high numbers. "We can do this."

_I am pissing blood. My company is a fading memory. There isn't a single dollar to my name. My biggest supporters don't even know I am alive. Look at me, this is where vigilantism will take you. My brain has more scar tissue than actively working cells. How can I possibly train you? My relationship with Ra's Al Ghul isn't something I want to recreate _is what Bruce should say to John Fucking Blake. Instead Bruce makes an embarrassing retreat to the bathroom.

"You can run but you can't hide." Is what Bruce hears after closes the door behind him.

He doesn't bother turning the light on. Staring at his reflection is a shock he tries to avoid if he can help it.

"Alfred called." John says to the closed door. "He knows, Bruce."

Bruce sinks down against the door, and closes his eyes, ignoring the burning gash on his thigh.

"You need to go to a doctor. A real doctor, not a mafia-trained medic who owes me a favor."

Bruce is glad that question has been answered.

"We only have to tell a handful of people. You need help, Bruce. Illegally imported analgesics can only do so much."

"I don't have radiation poisoning." Bruce says for what has to be the thousandth time.

"I will believe it when a licensed physician tells me."

"Most of Gotham is running on painkillers right now. Bane made sure of that."

"You are not most of Gotham. You are recovering from a spinal injury, as well as..."

"I know what injuries I am recovering from."

John gives a sigh, one which Bruce has come to understand as _you are being a child right now. _"You are not recovering," he says, and walks away.

_Recovery is overrated. _Bruce thinks in the darkness of the bathroom.

* * *

A/N: This site has some kind of fashion trend, where authors say something along the lines of Flamers not welcome, or marshmallows, or something. That. There. I want to fit in.


	2. Chapter 2

When John opens his door at 9 am on a dull Thursday morning, he meets someone who has to be the reason the word cultured was added to English dictionaries.

"Mr. Blake I presume?"

"Alfred." John smiles and steps aside to let the man in. "Welcome."

"Where is he?"

John closes the door behind him and locks it. "He is hiding under my bed."

"I see."

"I sleep on the couch." John adds quickly.

Alfred gives John a look which makes him lower his head with respect. It's understandable. This man is capable of reducing the one who runs around fighting super villains into a small child who hides under beds.

Alfred sighs when they enter the bedroom together as if he is about to deal with a particularly annoying two year old. He is not too far off if John's experience with Bruce is anything to go by.

"Master Bruce."

Bruce holds his breath. If he stays still long enough, the situation will resolve itself.

"I can stay out here as long as it takes."

"Would you like some tea or coffee?" John the traitor offers.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you." Alfred is smiling. Bruce can tell.

John's footsteps leave for the kitchen. Bruce keeps quiet.

"What a lovely young man." Alfred says. "Now where did Master Bruce run off to?"

Bruce feels a sudden urge to pout. He knows this routine. A long time ago, it used to get him out of his hiding corners.

"They say when you are looking for a young boy; you should focus on his feet." At this point, Alfred would grab a tiny foot, and hysterical giggling would ensue. Toddler Bruce would be carefully dragged out into his arms, Thomas standing behind Alfred, with his hands on his hips, the grin on his face contradicting his stern posture.

The foot Alfred grabs now is larger, but the strength behind it is all the same. Bruce feels his breath catch when he is dragged out from underneath John's bed, his left knee protests in pain. Alfred shakes his head. "With your stature and my age, I should not be able to do that."

"He isn't eating." John stands behind Alfred with his arms crossed. He has returned after starting the kettle. "I am not even sure how he is alive right now."

"Oh he has his ways. Now go take care of my tea." John is shooed out of his bedroom again; he leaves without protest.

Bruce absolutely refuses to look at Alfred. He refuses.

"I owe Fox a hundred dollars. He thought you would try to go out the window."

Bruce keeps his head turned defiantly.

"Get dressed when you are done sulking. We are going to a doctor."

Alfred leaves Bruce alone on the floor. A set of clothes wait on a nearby chair.

"Should I go in there and help him get changed?" John asks.

"I am sure he can manage on his own." Alfred's tone implies something which makes John blush.

"He has difficulty moving."

"He can move enough to dive under the bed. He will be fine." Alfred says to the boy's tomato red face. "I better go see to the tea."

"You don't have to." John says quickly, but follows Alfred to the kitchen.

It takes Bruce about twenty excruciating minutes to slip into the jeans and hooded shirt Alfred has brought for him. _Okay, maybe they are on to something about the doctor thing. _

"How do I look?" Bruce says sarcastically to his poker-faced audience. "Still hottest bachelor in town?" An inside joke between him and Alfred.

Alfred looks at John from the corner of his eyes. "You look very dapper, sir."

Depositing himself on a dining chair, beside John, which is starting to become his spot on the table, Bruce lets out a pained whimper. "I think I am ready for my casket now."

John's eyes widen. He has never heard Bruce complain before.

"I am afraid the position has already been filled, sir." Alfred thinks of the dark-haired young corpse placed instead of Bruce in his grave and feels something akin to guilt. No questions were asked, that's what matters.

Bruce picks at the eggs Alfred has prepared for him, even manages to eat a few bites without being asked, which to John is nothing short of a miracle. "You have got to teach me how to do this." He says to Alfred after breakfast. "It takes me at least an hour of begging before he eats."

"Bruce Wayne isn't something you can just learn. It takes years of mind numbing patience, experience and perseverance."

The clothes hang off Bruce like rags. Watching him walk down the stairs is a painful feat. It seems as if every time he bends his knees, a spark of sheer pain nearly causes him to buckle and fall down the stairs. The cane is almost no help, merely decorative. John curses his building for not have an elevator, and has to struggle to keep to himself. Alfred gives him a warning look. _He will ask for help if he needs it. _

Outside, a car waits, Gordon sitting in the driver's seat, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Commissioner," Bruce says as he shoots Alfred a withering look.

"I have no idea where he came from, sir, honest." How the man can look so innocent is beyond John.

"You look..." Gordon clears his throat, trying to come up with a polite way of saying _zombie road kill. _Nothing comes to mind.

Bruce refuses to say a word as he painstakingly lowers himself in the passenger seat.

"Might I suggest pulling your hood up, sir?"

"You honestly think anyone will recognize me? That's sweet, Alfred."

"I try, sir."

* * *

The young woman they have paid off has freshly graduated from medical school, with student loans the size of a galaxy. She has a job now. Bane's invasion has crippled Gotham in a way that even medical students who haven't even graduated yet are getting shifts. Young graduates are easily finding jobs, and experienced doctors are getting worked to death.

Bruce slowly lets himself in the exam room followed by his entourage. A gasp escapes from her mouth when her patient lowers his hood. The scars on his face are enough to steal her breath away. Lucius Fox, who was fully expecting the reaction, places a gentle hand on her arm. "Doctor, the walls have ears."

John glares at the woman. He doesn't want her making Bruce self-conscious. _You are no prize yourself, bitch. _He thinks defensively.

"Yes," The young woman composes herself remarkably quickly. "You must be Clyde Hamilton, I am Dr. Galgiardi, nice to meet you."

"I know you don't mean that." Bruce gives her a smile which would have had her panties off in milliseconds just a few months ago. Now it just gets him a pitying smile in return.

"Have a seat on the table, Mr. Hamilton." Bruce obliges.

"Everyone else can wait outside." John hesitates, but Alfred and Fox firmly lead him outside.

"Any chance you will tell me what happened to you?" Dr. Galgiardi asks softly as she palpates Bruce's knees, noting his pained wince critically. "Who you really are? I could really use some medical history, some comparison with previous medical exams." With Bane's invasion, she sees dozens of sick people every day, some of them are inclined to hide their identities.

Bruce keeps quiet. He doesn't dare make eye contact with the young beauty, with her Rachel like hair, and her Talia like eyes, and her Selena shade lipstick. He will never be able to look at another woman again.

The bandages on Bruce's stomach have been meticulously changed every day for the past two months. John is surprisingly anal about dressings and medical asepsis. "I am impressed with this work." The doctor says after checking the bandages, "Have you been to another doctor before?"

John had brought his medic friend to check on Bruce, and then proceeded to threaten him for half an hour. _If he gets an infection I will wring your fucking neck. _

The doctor, Sylvia, continues patiently, not offended by Bruce's silence. "We need to book an MRI. The next appointment available is in four months. I want to look at your muscles."

Bruce nods.

"Any vomiting? Weakness? Shortness of Breath? Light-headedness?"

"I feel weak." Bruce answers for the first time. The sound of his voice makes her pause where she is feeling his stomach gently. Something familiar about his voice, a distinct masculine quality.

Clearing her throat at the rush of emotions she feels, Sylvia continues the exam. She can see ribs clearly. "Does it hurt when I press against your stomach."

Bruce shakes his head.

"Anything else you want me to consider or look at?"

"Radiation poisoning." The voice is so small, that Sylvia almost doesn't hear it. "I don't know if I have it, but it's a possibility."

Time freezes. Sylvia Galgiardi drops the clipboard she is holding. "What did you just say?" She whispers.

Clyde Hamilton keeps his head lowered.

A commotion is heard outside where three men are patiently waiting. They rush inside to find a bewildered Bruce holding a sobbing woman in his arms, trying desperately to calm her down.

"You darling man." She whimpers against his chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." It takes Lucius _and _John to remove her from Bruce's person. She is taken to a corner of the small room and thoroughly but gently reprimanded. "Doctor, you are paid for your confidentiality." Fox says.

She escapes their hold and throws herself at Bruce's feet. In the end, of course, all it takes is Alfred's most soothing voice, the one he had exclusively reserved for toddler Bruce until now, to calm her down.

Sylvia Galgiardi is a hysterical mess, desperately trying to get to Bruce again.

"What he needs right now," Alfred whispers in her ear, "is some good quality medical care."

Sylvia nods tearfully. "Take your goddamn money back." She sobs out. "I won't take any money from him."

She composes herself enough to call the MRI department.

"This is Dr. Galgiardi calling from ER, I need you to take a patient in, ASAP, full body survey."

There is silence in the room for a while, perhaps the MRI nurse berating Sylvia for daring to make the assumption that Diagnostic Imaging can take a patient at such short notice when they don't have a single opening.

"You listen to me, Trisha." Tears flow down Sylvia's beautiful face generously. "This is someone very close to me, don't you dare turn him away."

There is a change in tone from the other side, a much softer cooing coming.

"I am fine," Sylvia whimpers out, "Just pencil him in for twelve-thirty."

Hanging up without a single word, she turns to Bruce and takes his face in her hands. "I am gonna take care of you, okay? Don't you worry about a damn thing."

Bruce says silent as multiple kisses are placed to his forehead.

"Did you see that statue they made?" Sylvia's makeup is ruined. She doesn't care. "I personally don't think it does you justice."

John feels something painful in his throat as the woman rummages through her purse and pulls her phone out. "That's my baby nephew in his Batman jammies." She shows Bruce who proceeds to nod politely. "He won't sleep without them."

Alfred and Lucius stare blankly. John knows the exam is finished, so he lets the doctor continue.

"He just had a birthday. He wanted a Batman cake."

"That's possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen." Bruce says, and Sylvia giggles out a laugh.

"I think it's time we go down to MRI." John doesn't see a ring on the woman's hand, and Bruce is actually starting to show interest in baby pictures.

* * *

"Any particular reason you don't like the sight of a stunning young woman with Master Bruce?" Alfred asks John as they slowly make their way through the crowded hospital.

John manages to not blush this time. Behind him, Alfred and Lucius exchange meaningful looks.

MRI is on the lowest level, and even walking the small distance from the elevator to Diagnostic Imaging drains Bruce considerably. John takes Bruce's right arm and the doctor takes his left, ignoring the death glare she receives from Bruce's other side.

The hospital patrons don't really get why one of their best new doctors is wasting time with what is seemingly a drugged out degenerate. "Hospital resources can be better spent, doctor." Trisha bites out acidly after she is done explaining the procedure.

"He is a cousin." Sylvia smiles apologetically. "Like a brother to me. Lost his parents a long time ago."

"Oh honey," Trisha shakes her head, "You can't drop everything the moment he needs you. It will set a bad precedent."

The tech on duty gives Bruce an impassive look. "Are you claustrophobic? Any metal on your person? Allergies?"

"Can I go in with him?" John says to the amusement of every person in the room.

"For an MRI?" Trisha makes a face at the ex-detective and then turns to Alfred and Lucius. "Is he for real?"

"He doesn't even let poor Clyde dress by himself." Alfred whispers and the woman nods in understanding. She sees this all the time, Gotham has the tendency to make overbearing assholes out of even the sweetest of boys.

"It's okay honey," the nurse gives John the look she reserves for particularly over-protective boyfriends. "We will take care of him."

John doesn't get why he keeps getting these looks. He is just being a good acquaintance. And when it's a minute over twelve-thirty, he creates a big scene and tells the tech to get her ass out here and see to Mr. Hamilton right the fuck now.

The MRI takes an hour. John paces outside like a caged tiger, shooting Sylvia impatient looks. When Bruce returns, the tech bodily shoves him at John. "Here, you can have him back." She glares, professionalism be damned. "We don't even want him in the first place. He has delayed our case load for today."

John scoffs at her hastily retreating back. "What crawled up her ass and died?"

Beside Alfred, Lucius raises an eyebrow at the display.

* * *

"Good news," Dr. Galgiardi smiles kindly at Bruce. "You are not exhibiting any signs of radiation poisoning."

"I told you." Bruce addresses John, who is hovering somewhere in the background.

"Now the bad news." The woman continues, not one to beat around the bush. "You will never be able to..."

"Confidentiality, Dr. Galgiardi." Lucius interrupts.

"Right." Sylvia smiles tightly. "You will never do... what you used to be able to do... before. Not doing even more serious and permanent damage to yourself."

"There are no limits to my surprise." Bruce says monotonously. "I am truly shocked."

"Your body..." The woman shakes her head as if looking for proper words. "I have never seen anything like it."

_That used to be a good thing... _Bruce thinks.

Alfred doesn't give a damn. He is ready to deal with everything and anything. As long he doesn't have to bury Thomas and Martha's precious baby boy.

Bruce remembers the speech from his previous physical and is expecting nothing too different.

"Frankly," the woman is truly astonished, "I don't even know how you are walking. It's truly remarkable. Your left knee..."

_No cartilage. _Bruce echoes.

"No cartilage whatsoever, it must be excruciating to move your legs at all." Sylvia looks down at the chart she is writing in. "Your kidneys..."

_Scar tissue._ Bruce anticipates.

"I am so glad your people brought you in when they did. I can't even begin to explain to you what glomerulosclerosis can lead to if left untreated. Renal failure is not something you want to deal with."

_Oh joy._

"Anything else you would like to tell me?" Sylvia gives Bruce a withering look. "Something you forgot to mention during your exam?"

John does not like where this is going.

"You did Urinalysis, why do I have to say anything."

"It's important to tell your doctor when you see blood in your urine."

"I forgot." Bruce shrugs.

"You forgot?" John glares the back of Bruce's head. "You stubborn ass. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't you talk to him in that tone!" Sylvia glares daggers at the enraged young man. "He is the reason we are all here."

"We should start bringing popcorn to these things." Lucius whispers to Alfred who is watching John with a very calculating look.

John grits his teeth but backs off. He knows from experience, it's never a good idea to go toe-to-toe with a Batman groupie. They can get very violent, very fast where the caped crusader is concerned.

"Is there _anything _else I need to know?" Sylvia asks the hooded figure sitting across from her gently. "You mentioned radiation poisoning. Other signs or symptoms?"

"He gets headaches." John mutters petulantly.

"That would be his post-concussion syndrome."

"You can't possibly know that after one visit." John's tone can only be described as snarky. "Don't you need to do some differential diagnoses first?"

"Listen Mister..."

"Detective Blake." John smirks at her arrogantly.

Even Bruce looks up at that.

"Detective." The woman sighs. Trust Batman to have a full set of parents and a guard dog with a badge. "This may be one of the most severe cases I have ever seen, but it's hardly the first. Bane did a number on Gotham's health. And contrary to what you may think, I know what I am doing."

John, predictably, blushes. Alfred is starting to see a pattern.

"We need to deal with your knee, your head injuries and your abdominal problems." The doctor gives Bruce another kind smile which should make John want to throw her out the window, but if her professional meddling can help Bruce, John will let the hand she has on Batman's knee pass.

"Your spinal cord is intact," Sylvia winces in sympathy, "But one vertebrae is protruding outwards just a little more than others. It must be causing you a lot of pain."

Bruce has to fight the urge to close his eyes and lie down on the floor. Just the mere thought of the prison Bane threw him in is exhausting. It seems that his vertebrae was pushed back in most of the way, but the stubborn bone is still not completely aligned with the rest of his spine.

Sylvia then pulls up sagittal reconstructions of the MRI on her computer and shows Bruce and company where one vertebral body is slightly out of line from the others.

"I am not going to do anything about this." She says.

"Excuse me?" John whispers dangerously. "You just said it's causing him pain."

"I am not going to put him through spinal surgery for a little bit of misalignment." Sylvia is remarkably patient with the irate young man. "Such surgery is extremely risky in his condition. Especially if he doesn't need it. It is painful but he can live with this. No doctor will put him under the knife for something so small."

"His fucking spine isn't lined up and you say it's small?" John stands over where she is sitting at the computer, trying the time-honored tactic of intimidation. "I would hate to see what you think is big."

"Master John..." Alfred starts. Lucius places a firm hand on his shoulder, but it's Bruce's slight tug at his wrist which brings him back to earth.

"Quiet."

John doesn't hesitate to grab that hand and squeeze it, gently. "Alright, whatever you want."

Bruce turns to the doctor. "What about my knee?"

"When cartilage is gone, the two bones involved in the joint, your distal femur and your proximal tibia will rub together, causing pain because there is nothing present to cushion them. There are several surgical options available, but based on your condition, I will recommend the use of a brace and drug therapies. I have already prescribed anti-inflammatories."

"My head injuries?"

"I wouldn't recommend any medication for that. Side effects for anything I prescribe you for headaches will hit you a lot more severely than it would other patients."

"So you recommend pain and suffering."

Sylvia gives John a look he will forever remember as _thank god you are pretty cause there is nothing else going on. _"If I put him on pain meds, it will be impossible for him to go off them. Either he will get addicted, or develop medication overuse headaches."

"My kidneys?"

"Nothing we can do about them. As long as you stay out of situations which can lead to more scarring." Meaningful pause. "The protein levels in your urine are normal, so no alterations need to be made to your diet."

"So the blood in his urine..."

"Should stop if no other damage occurs."

"Alright then." Bruce will never admit to the relief he feels at John forcefully pulling him off the chair and shouldering his weight. "This has been fun."

"Gotham will never thank you enough for everything you have sacrificed for her."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

After give him the tightest most painful hug ever, Sylvia smiles brightly. "Let me know if anything changes. I have written my private number on here."

"Thank you." John says tersely as Lucius grabs the prescription. "That will be all."

"I don't think I need to explain the sheer necessity of your silence, doctor?" Lucius speaks when his companions have emptied out.

"I would rather die than betray our saviour."

* * *

"I can't believe she figured it out."John sprawls on his couch, tense. "How did she figure it out?"

Next to him, Bruce shrugs. "Who else would complain about radiation poisoning in Gotham. It's your fault anyway. I told you I don't have it. But you kept bringing it up."

"Master Bruce is right. If the young lady is smart enough to practice medicine, then she is smart enough to figure out that the battered patient complaining of radiation poisoning is the caped crusader who handled an atomic bomb just before disposing of it."

"And if I am not forgetting," Lucius adds, "you figured out Batman's true identity before anyone."

Another blush. Alfred is getting very good at predicting them.

"I can't believe John knew before I did." Gordon says, "How did a kid figure it out and the commissioner didn't."

"You were too closer to Batman," Bruce doesn't like the crestfallen look on Gordon's face. "How was Bruce playboy-waste-of-space supposed to fit into that equation?"

"And I am not a kid." John snaps.

"Of course you aren't." Alfred soothes. "Now regarding Master Bruce's living arrangements."

"I have an empty house, with lots of room." Gordon gives Bruce an earnest smile. "Great place to recover."

Bruce is tempted, he really is. Gordon has to be the most comforting, soothing presence on the face of the planet. _He will keep us safe while we recover. _Batman says. He loves Gordon.

"Might I suggest my humble abode?" Lucius politely offers.

"I have seen your apartment." Alfred interjects. "There is nothing humble about it."

"Getting away from all the emotional drama can be very good for a man. Think of it as a vacation. We can talk gadgets all day long."

"Where are you getting money for gadgets?" Bruce asks, "We don't have a dollar to our name."

"Details, details."

"Aren't you people forgetting?" Alfred rolls his eyes at the smug expression on Lucius' face. "I raised Master Bruce. He belongs with me."

"It will be suspicious if a young man of about Bruce's age is regularly seen with you just a few months after he passed. Especially someone of the same height." Lucius says. "Might as well announce his return right now if we are at it."

"You have taken care of me my entire life, Alfred." Bruce smiles at the man. "You deserve a little break."

"You have six months," Alfred says bossily. "Then you are coming back to live with me."

"Great," John claps his hands, "until then, Bruce can stay with me."

"And why is that exactly?" Alfred inquires politely. "What reason do you have to keep Master Bruce?"

"He is comfortable here." John knows what Alfred is doing. His traitorous cheeks turn red again. "No reason to move him."

"He is not a piece of furniture." Gordon doesn't understand why John is blushing. "What's wrong with your face, are you sick?"

John ignores the question. "I am not letting you people take him."

"We _people," _Lucius rolls his eyes at the boy, "are his friends and family. We have every right to him."

'Well," John thinks his face is going to explode any second now, "I am his friend too."

"You are sleeping on the couch. It can't be too comfortable." Alfred continues his attack. The boy's tomato red cheeks are hilarious. "It's better if we take Bruce away."

"Over my dead body."

"What do you think, Bruce?" Gordon asks his friend. "Where would you like to stay? Either one of us would be delighted to have you."

"I honestly don't care. Anyone's place is fine, as long as I get a corner to myself where I can lay down and die."

"Stay with me," John gives Bruce a puppyish look. "It requires the least amount of movement."

"Sold."

"But he's on the couch." Alfred won't give up. "Are you planning on sharing a bed with him?" He wants to make John blush to death.

Bruce is mercilessly oblivious to John's face problem. "Who cares? If he is happy on the couch, then I am happy on the bed. We can switch when he gets sick of it. I can leave when he gets sick of having me around. As long as it's in the distant future and I don't have to move my legs."

"I get weekends." Lucius raises his hand. "Called it."

"What is this?" Bruce glares. "A custody agreement?"

"If anyone should get weekends, it's me." Alfred completely ignores Bruce. "I have earned weekends."

"Excuse me," Gordon looks offended. "Alfred should be the last person to get weekends. I am the one who has spent the least amount of time with Bruce. And on rooftops beside the bat signal no less, in the bitter cold of the night. Where are my cozy dinners?"

"You are the commissioner." Lucius shoots. "You are missing an important meeting even now. You don't have time for Bruce."

"The meeting was cancelled and I get one day off a week. Aren't you running Wayne Enterprises?"

"It's not as hard as it used to be." Lucius shrugs carelessly. "We are broke."

"And yet we still have money for gadgets." Bruce says.

"We can play this as it comes." John promises his guests. "Everyone will get equal time with Bruce."

"Fine," Lucius smirks. "I still get first weekend."

"I cannot believe the nerve of this man." Gordon throws his hands in the air and starts walking to the front door. "How anyone can be so self-absorbed is beyond me."

"I am self-absorbed?" Lucius follows Gordon. "Tell me commissioner, how did the meeting go today?"

"It was cancelled!"

"They bicker like an old married couple." Bruce remarks as Alfred places a gentle hand on his head.

"I will call you tomorrow, sir."

"Good night, Alfred."

When the three men are gone, John places a blanket on Bruce's legs where he is starting to fall asleep on the couch. "They love you."

"Someone has to." Bruce mumbles. "Behind every Batman is his surrogate father, his armourer and his favourite commissioner."

"Thank you." John smiles at Bruce. "It means a lot to me that you stayed."

"I was promised a solitary corner where I can die in piece."

"Right... Leaving you alone now."

"That's my boy."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey handsome." Selena's melodious voice is the first thing Bruce hears when he wakes. He could get used to this. He has, in a way.

"Hey," He whispers softly to the gorgeous shadow. "What are you doing here? Your slate not clean enough?"

Her lips quirk up in a smile so small, only the Batman's eyes can see it. "Ha ha. How you holding up?"

"I have been worse." Bruce admits. "Much worse."

"Your sacrifice paid off."

"It's not a sacrifice if the reward is great. My city deserves all of me."

"All of you?" Rachel says from where she is sitting by his bedside. "You sure do promise all of yourself every chance you get."

Bruce doesn't bother being surprised by her presence. He sees her every night. "I have never had anything else."

"Now, that's not true," Talia smiles gently from where she is leaning against the dresser, "You had looks, money, fame, the American dream."

"I had no idea the American dream was so hollow." Rachel's lips curl in disgust. She always comes off as very bitter in his dreams.

"Well, ladies," Bruce grins, his scars sting as he does, "It's all gone. I have nothing."

* * *

One day, Bruce will write a book, maybe a graphic novel to share his life experiences with the world. He will tell everyone everything. All his secrets, his reasons, his goals, his motivations. Maybe on his death bed, he will leave something for his lawyer to publish under a fake name. Even a series of comic books would be better than the horrific vision that is on TV right now.

"I like this show." John says from his place on the couch beside Bruce. "They are off to quite an entertaining start."

"Was my costume really that tight?" Bruce questions, his mouth open in terrified shock.

John clears his throat and looks away. That is in itself, an answer.

The actor who has been chosen to play Batman is very handsome. The kind of handsome that is preposterous. Those icy blue-gray eyes, the devastatingly sculpted body. Those biceps. The guy is built like nobody's business.

"This is ridiculous." Bruce shakes his head in disgust. "His mouth is too pouty. Everyone in Gotham will know who Batman is just by looking at those lips."

"Hmm, I don't think so." John disagrees, even though he compared Bruce's lips to Batman's when he discovered the caped crusader's true identity. "He isn't exactly a public figure like you were."

"Mild-mannered policeman by day," Bruce says mockingly, "Badass vigilante by night. Makes perfect sense."

"Now don't be mean." John chastises. "They are trying their best. The studio got orders to do a Batman show very short notice."

"Won't the other policemen fucking notice when he goes missing every night?" Bruce looks like he is going to cry.

"He is a policeman by _day." _John emphasizes. "He never gets night shifts."

"He just joined the police force. All young cops in Gotham get when they join are night shifts. You of all people should know."

"It's a _TV show, _Bruce. Calm down."

"I will _not_ calm down. This is slander."

On screen, the woman supposed to be the Cat wraps her legs around Batman's waist as he whispers in her ear. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't take you against this wall right now."

She moans like a porn star and pulls him into a kiss.

Bruce's eyes widen with shock. "She would rip my testicles off and feed them to me if I tried that with her."

"No wonder this show is rated R." John shakes his head. "It is _not _safe for kids."

"No," Bruce mutters, "that would be the jackass cartoons they play in the morning. _The Batman and Friends Hour."_

"I think it's nice you teamed up with Superman. You two are good for each other."

"I never needed Superman. Did everything my damn self."

"Oh Batman, park your Bat Mobile in my cave." The Cat whispers huskily as Batman enters her.

John falls off the couch laughing as Bruce buries his face in a pillow and howls like a wounded animal.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Commissioner Gordon does not actually like his job. If anything, he hates it. If there was a better person available for the position, he would gladly go back to being one of the team, instead of the guy everyone points fingers at the instance anything goes wrong. Especially now, in the post-apocalyptic world that is Gotham.

"We need more cops." The new mayor, Gordon cannot even remember his name right now, says.

"Would you like me to manufacture them?"

"You know what I mean, Commissioner."

Gordon sighs. He suddenly feels every number on his age. "We lost a lot of good men in Bane's invasion."

Armand Krol smiles wanly. "And their sacrifice will be remembered for ages to come. But now is not the time to grief, Gordon. It's time to rebuild what we have lost. And if we can't rebuild it, we will replace it."

"With whom?" Gordon asks. "People aren't exactly rushing to join."

"Make propaganda posters if you have to, as long as you make it happen."

"And what about those deceased policemen's families? What should I tell them?"

"Your job as the Commissioner," Krol's teeth glint viciously, "Is to at least _pretend _to agree with me once in a while."

"My job," Gordon whispers, "Mayor Krol," he suddenly remembers the asshole's name, "Is to protect this noble city."

"How will you protect us when you have no men?"

"Would you like me to start ordering conscriptions?"

Krol scoffs. "The people are shaken, Gordon. Our police force is a quarter of what it used to be, and Batman is dead."

Gordon is glad he took Drama in high school. It takes every bit of actor he has in his body to keep his face expressionless.

"Gothamites feel exposed and vulnerable without their protector, and rightfully so. It's our duty to soothe their fears."

Gordon keeps his mouth shut.

"You know what my little boy said to me yesterday? _Daddy, bring Batman back. _How the hell am I supposed to make that happen? How can I go to sleep at night, knowing that when the next crackpot super villain takes over Gotham, no one is coming to save my children?"

"We are doing everything we can, Mayor Krol." Gordon sighs.

"God help us," Krol's lips wrinkle in disgust; "We need to start advertising on TV."

"It would certainly be a new low."

"Get that actor who plays Batman. My wife and daughter love that show. If he can't get young men and women to join GCPD, no one save for the real Batman can."

"That imbecile?" Gordon can swear he feels sympathy pains. Somewhere Bruce Wayne is on John's couch, probably sobbing in shame and frustration. "He is an insult to Batman."

"Be that as it may," Even Krol feels sorry for Batman's memory. "The jackass is a hit. Make it happen."

That said, the Mayor disappears, leaving Gordon whispering a litany of _I am sorry, Bruce, I am sorry Bruce, I am sorry, Bruce._

* * *

Alfred sits in peace in his temporary apartment. It feels great to know that his Master Bruce is in fairly decent hands for now, so he can have a little bit of alone time. _I am enjoying this time to myself. _The man thinks stubbornly and firmly. _I will absolutely not go over to John's apartment and try to spend time with Master Bruce. _

He picks up his tea and finally gets to the newspaper that has been waiting for him since this morning. And of course, that's when the phone decides to ring.

"Fox." Alfred greets his acquaintance, "To what to I owe this pleasure?"

"Something terrible. Channel 18. Brace yourself." That said, the man lets out a very audible shudder, and hangs up.

Alfred frowns at the warning, but obeys. _Ugh, _He thinks in his head, _it's that disgusting TV show they made about Batman. There has to be something we can do about this. There is a lawsuit in here somewhere. _

The show is stomach-churning and utterly moronic, but Alfred has known about it for a few weeks now. He was there to console and strategically extract Bruce when the man had locked himself in the bathroom. _I am not coming out until that show is gone, Alfred. There is no hope for this world. _

Lucius always has a reason, so Alfred waits patiently. The show is currently doing a storyline about a sordid romance between Batman and the Cat.

For someone who has raised Bruce in his arms, watching a TV representation of him do depraved things on screen is excruciatingly difficult. Alfred has a sudden urge to do something ungentlemanly. Like bash his head against the wall and destroy the lovely white carpet he has picked out for himself, and of course when Master Bruce moves in.

Nothing too out of the ordinary happens on the pathetic excuse for a show. Mediocre dialogue is exchanged between the two leads. _I swear, _Alfred reminisces from his theatre days, _this show should be titled: __What Not to Do In Acting__._

The commercials start, and Alfred is about to turn the TV off, when it happens.

_Dear God._

* * *

John wakes up from a deep sleep, feeling refreshed. He sighs when he realizes he fell asleep against Bruce's shoulder. "I guess I can just pass out anywhere. My bad."

Bruce looks as if he is about to kill someone. John follows his gaze and lets out an unmanly gasp.

The dude, who is supposedly Batman, is tied to a chair. The Jester (Joker?) is prancing around, laughing like a maniac. "I have you now, Batman. Nothing can save you now."

Suddenly the door is kicked in, and a bunch of policemen charge in. The Jester is immediately taken into custody, and the Batman is saved. "Thanks men, where would I be without you?"

One particularly photogenic policeman gives Batman a salute. "Gotham's finest are always ready to serve our Saviour." A theme from the shows plays and Batman appears in front of a dark, foreboding background. In what is a horrific butchering of Bruce's Batman voice, he implores the young to join GCPD because he can never have too many allies.

"Bruce," John is sleep-warm and pleasantly alive. Even the most offensive commercial in TV history doesn't look so bad. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"I am just praying the Joker doesn't see this."

"Well," John glares at his flat screen. "I kind of am. Teach these people a lesson."

"The Joker is nothing to joke about." Bruce is gravely serious. "These people are playing with fire. It's one thing to mess with my image. It's another dimension to play with his. Their lives are in danger."

"You think he would..."

"There's a saying at Arkham Asylum." Bruce stares at the TV blankly, "When the villains want to scare each other, they tell Joker stories. These idiots might have signed their own death warrants."

"Should we call the Commissioner?"

"He knows. The commercial was officially his order. He called to apologize."

"Did they place security outside fake Batman's house?"

"The police don't have enough men." Bruce smiles at the irony.

"There must be a lot of private security at his house already."

"The entire US army could be outside his house and it wouldn't stop the Joker from getting to him."

"What do you think?" John asks Bruce. "Should we wait until he goes missing, or go now?"

Bruce gives John a weary look.

* * *

Chad Channing's house is almost as big as Wayne Manor and twice as gaudy. Fake Batman is throwing a party tonight. The show has been renewed for another season. The entire cast is at his house. Expensive cars as far as the eye can see and starlets are nothing new for Bruce, but John is at an edge. Nothing about this situation is familiar.

It says something about the security system that Bruce and John were able to walk in, without running into even a hint of an obstacle. They are more worried about Fake Batman's life than ever before.

Bruce looks ghostly pale in the moon's light. John feels something protective in him bubble to the surface. "Are you sure you are okay?"

"I am fine." The brace Lucius created for him gets him mobile, but just barely. His left knee is still stiff, but the pain is gone and the joint is fairly stable. The anti-inflammatories are working their magic. "Focus on your surroundings, not me."

The dark is John's friend. No one can see him blush. And Alfred isn't here to mercilessly attack him.

Bruce notices a tense frown on John's face in the moonlight. "I am fine. Stop worrying."

"If you are going to be a liability to the mission, then you shouldn't be here." Slips out, before John can help it. Side-effect from his detective days. A little bit of coldness can save your partner's life.

Bruce laughs his first real laugh that John has ever heard.

"I mean it." John swallows nervously. "Let me handle this."

"Facing Joker alone is highly ill-advised." Batman's voice, even when Bruce is not in costume sends shivers down John's back. "Especially for someone untrained."

"I can fight." John grumbles.

"Not at my level."

"We don't even know if he will show."

"This night has all the ingredients for a Joker showdown." Bruce grimaces in the darkness, "An idiotic party, dozens of unsuspecting guests, a gigantic mansion."

"And Batman." John adds.

"And Batman." Bruce repeats. "Something terrible will happen tonight. I just know it."

"You are not in costume."

"Batman is dead. People will cry imposter and attack me."

"You are being fucking ridiculous." John is fully ready to throw a fit. "If they can allow this moronic show to continue, they can let Batman come back. You are not safe without armor."

"You don't have armor either, in case you are forgetting."

"Don't you have a spare suit lying around?"

"Two Batmen? You are just aching for a lynching, aren't you?"

"I don't have to wear a cowl, or the cape. You can keep your symbol. Just give me something to protect my thorax."

"I will see what I can do."

"And forearm protectors. I want some."

"Fine."

Hiding in bushes, in the bitter cold of the night, when there are people inside wining and dining makes John feel restless. "Gotham is a wreck and these people still have time for their caviar."

"The rich and frivolous cannot be expected to show compassion for anyone." Batman's voice is so quiet, that John has to strain to hear it. "They only exist for themselves."

"It wouldn't kill them to suit up and fight crime."

A small quirk of lips is all John gets for his effort, but it's worth it. "You don't know. It just might."

The party is catered as expected. Men and women in servant garb walk around with platters of finger food and champagne, serving their guests. Bruce keeps expecting to see Selena's silhouette, but every time a waitress turns around, he is disappointed.

"She isn't here." There is something tight in John's voice, something regretful. "She's gone."

_Taking a part of me with her._ Bruce will never be able to stop looking for her. In a woman's pearls, or her heels, or a sharp grin. She will always resonate in the deepest corners of his soul.

"Why didn't you go to her?" John asks, his face hidden by a well-placed branch. _Why come to me? _

"She was too..." Bruce smiles softly when he thinks of her eyes, "Familiar."

"Familiar?" John says, deadpanned.

Bruce doesn't say anything. He doesn't expect this kid to understand a damn thing.

"She is your soul-mate, Bruce." John says, after a while. "You will never find anyone who will understand you the way she does."

"If you are that desperate to get rid of me, I have other places to go."

"Bruce," John's voice has that annoying sacrificial quality Alfred's sometimes gets. "I cannot watch you spend the rest of your life dying for a glimpse of her."

"You are planning watch me for the rest of my life." Just a joke, to lighten the damn mood of this depressing conversation.

"Not if you end up with her."

The implications of that statement floor Bruce, hard. As the night gets darker, he finds himself watching John like a hawk, looking for signs of attraction.

Of course he doesn't find anything. The kid is a kid compared to Bruce, but in the grand scheme of things he is a man. A battle-hardened orphan from Gotham who has learned early on in life that wearing your emotions on your sleeve is akin to throwing yourself in front of a bus. John's poker face is perfection, his actions are carefully controlled, and if he is attracted to Bruce, he has shown absolutely no signs of it so far. _Figment of my imagination. _Bruce concludes and Batman agrees. _Every pretty face I see seems like a potential love interest. It's just the sluttyness ingrained in me. _

No murderous clowns have been spotted, except for maybe the blond idiot who plays Jester. The man keeps making a pass at everything with a pulse.

"Wow." John watches Jester flirt his way through the party with a mixture of disgust and wonder. "He is persistent."

"My success rate was a lot higher." Bruce says.

"Ah, yes." John smirks. "Bruce Wayne's man-whoring is legendary."

"And you can see why. It's clearly not as easy as it looks." Bruce and John wince collectively as Jester strikes out with another waitress. "Okay now I feel sorry for him."

"He is blessed in the looks apartment." John admits, begrudgingly. "Clearly something is wrong with his game."

Bruce has been reading lips. "Well, he needs to stop asking people if he flips a coin, what are his chances of getting head."

John lets out an incredulous snort. "Drinking is doing wonders for his game."

The rich know how to party, the mansion glitters in the night, completely unaware of the tragedy that befell Gotham a mere couple of months ago. It doesn't take long for people to show up and remind Chad Channing of his shallow facade.

"Okay, I wasn't expecting that." John gazes at the newly arrived mob with wonder.

Bruce doesn't look surprised at all.

A man screams into a speaker phone. "How dare you celebrate when we don't have money to feed our children? When our city is in ruins? How dare you make a mockery of our Saviour?"

The crowd stands silent, ominous, gloomy. It lets its leader talk for it; not a single person makes any kind of noise. This is clearly a very organized group.

Chad Channing comes out flanked by two giant bodyguards. He is fully decked out in Armani, but somehow still looks like a dumbass. "We are doing nothing wrong." He yells at the group of at least five hundred people. "We are celebrating being alive."

"By humiliating the God who saved us?" If looks could kill, Chad Channing would be dead at least five hundred times over. "You are an insult to everything Batman stood for. We demand you cease desecrating his memory."

"That would be nice." Bruce whispers quietly.

"We would all appreciate it." John adds.

"It's called entertainment, people." Chad throws his hands up in the air. "We are honoring Batman by bringing his story to life."

"We demand you end production, in the name of our Saviour."

The guests are all at the windows, watching the show with concern. Even Jester has stopped trying to get laid.

"All this effort to end a harmless TV show?" Chad says sarcastically. "You could be rebuilding your city right now. Or I don't know, looking for jobs? I know the GCPD needs people."

"This is so not the kind of publicity Gordon had in mind for the department." John mutters.

"We are doing everything we can." The leader stands proud and tall. "We are soldiers of Gotham and we will eradicate every threat to its honor. Starting with you."

"I am calling the cops."

"Batman is Gotham's pride." The leader's eyes blaze with something unholy. "We will make you pay for dishonoring him."

"Resorting to threats?" Chad yells. "Batman didn't need to threaten anyone."

"You think you are the Caped Crusader? You think you embody his strength?"

"No. I just play him on TV. It's called acting!"

Police sirens can now be heard in the distance.

"I wonder if this is one those domestic disturbances I was always warned about." John says to Bruce.

Surprisingly it's Chad who gets violent first. Bruce was expecting it to be the other way around. The man is asking to be punched in the face.

John makes a surprised sound as Fake Batman grabs the leader by his collar and throws him to the ground. The mob doesn't help him. They just stand and watch judgementally.

"You can't throw all of us to the ground." The leader has also resorted to yelling. Chad has kicked his speaker phone away. "In the name of our Saviour, we will rise."

"This saviour thing is starting to scare me a little bit." Bruce admits. "It sounds like a cult of some kind."

"Beats atheism, I guess." John leans closer to Bruce. Color is slowly draining from his face. The paleness is only getting worse. It's even more worrying when Bruce leans against John's side in response, using him as a pillar to stand against. "We are getting out of here, the police can handle these idiots."

Bruce shivers in the frozen air of the night, unable to take his eyes off the spectacle. His lips have turned blue.

"The rich shall pay." The ranting doesn't stop. "Batman will descend from the heavens to damn you all."

"BATMAN IS DEAD! And the dead don't come back."

Finally, the mob responds. A collective gasp is heard. Five hundred plus people raise their hands in the air, as if praying. "Batman is immortal." The leader says, appalled. "He watches over us, even now. He listens to our prayers. He picks us up when we fall."

Chad has ruined his voice. It's just a quiet rasp now, but Bruce reads his lips. "These people are fucking crazy," The actor says to his bodyguards. "Lock the doors." That said, the man runs inside, his hired muscle following him in.

"That's right." The leader's voice has cracked, but that doesn't stop him from yelling hysterically. "Run inside you coward! You blasphemer! Run with your tail between your legs. Hide in your mansion, while Batman blesses us all."

"Congratulations," John says to Bruce - who is watching, mesmerized – "You have your own religion."

The police have now arrived. Squad cars park outside, as the night air ignites with police lights. The mob is surrounded by Gotham's finest.

"We fully cooperate with the police." The leader yells. "We just wish to pray together, before we are taken into custody."

The party guests watch from the windows, with fascination. It doesn't take long for news crews to join the spectacle. Cameras are now everywhere.

GCPD watch warily, afraid. There are only about fifty policemen, and five hundred young, healthy, twenty-something bodies can be a huge problem. One they likely cannot handle.

Bruce's legs almost give out, and if John wasn't present supporting him, he likely would have fallen.

The mob falls to its knees. "Oh heavenly Saviour." The leader starts, his face turned up towards the sky, "Oh Caped Crusader. Bless us with your light."

_Bless us! _The mob chants.

"We need not these false idols." The leader gestures towards the mansion, "We need only you."

_Only you!_

"Come back to us, almighty Saviour. Come back and protect us from these vultures."

_Amen._

"I think they are trying to resurrect you." John says to a catatonic Bruce.

The mob is slowly taken into custody and they keep their word, cooperating with the police and leaving peacefully. News reporters stand on the lawn with their respective cameramen, preparing for tomorrow's biggest story.

"Let's go, Bruce." John says softly and starts to lead his friend toward the weakening in the fence they crawled through. "GCPD will handle this."

Bruce allows John to lead him away, wordlessly.

When they get home and John starts working on dinner, Bruce allows himself to sit down and let his aching legs have some rest.

"Sandwiches for dinner?" John asks.

"Yeah, thanks." Bruce massages his thigh where a sharp, stinging sensation is likely not going to let him sleep tonight.

"Take your pills."

"They worship me, like a god." Bruce makes an incredulous sound, his entire belief in reality has been shaken. "Maniacs. Every single one of them. Can you think of a single sane person who would worship me?"

_I can think of one. _John carefully makes the sandwich just as Bruce likes it. If the spoiled prince doesn't get the perfect sandwich, he throws a fit, and Alfred isn't around to calm him down.

"Group therapy is what they need. You better not forget the damn mayo this time."

"Yes." John rolls his eyes, and then mutters under his breath. "Your highness."


	4. Chapter 4

"Alfred, if there is one person on the face of this planet, who _shouldn't _be God of his own religion, it's me."

"It's not you they are worshiping, sir. It's Batman."

"They are the same person." John is sitting across from the two men. He is glad to have the opportunity to observe them side by side. "Alter-egos."

"Be that as it may," Alfred gives John a look that manages to be both irritated and fond at the same time. "Bruce Wayne is nothing but a shallow representation of society's flaws. Batman in contrast, is the perfect shadow which protects the night. Everything humanity aspires to be. I am surprised it has taken this long for him to have his own cult."

"You sound happy with this latest development, Alfred."

"You alienated yourself from society for better part of the last decade. And while you were hiding from your fate, I was the one out there, listening to all the horrible, untrue things they said about Batman. It's about time he gets the appreciation he deserves."

Bruce gives Alfred a small smile. "I thought you didn't like Batman."

"Batman is a part of you." Alfred says without a hint of emotion, in a very matter-of-fact tone. "A part I don't like very much, but I cannot surgically remove him your person anymore than I can stop trying to protect you."

Bruce grins. "I should make you my high priest."

"Any high-ranking position should be fine as long as I have full access to the treasury."

"Gold-digger." Bruce says affectionately.

"I am surprised the Joker didn't make an appearance." John looks down at his arms which are folded on the table. "Chad Channing's party was every murderous clown's biggest fantasy. It was just begging to be psychotically interrupted."

"Aww," Bruce pouts mockingly, "Are you sad we got stood up? Don't worry, he will come around."

"Consider yourself lucky, young man. The Joker is not someone you ever want to encounter, especially with Master Bruce out of commission."

"Hey, I can still take him." Bruce is genuinely offended. "I think."

"It's just strange. Where is he?"

"Hopefully somewhere far, far away."

"What can you tell me about the Joker?" John says softly. "The police files were worse than useless."

"He was a menace of the highest degree. An anarchist with no real purpose in mind, just mindless destruction." Alfred says. "He killed someone very dear to us, and reduced the white knight of Gotham to a psychotic mess."

John sees the faraway look on Bruce's eyes and should drop the subject, but he has so many questions. His curiosity will get him killed one of these days.

"There is no rhyme or reason behind his actions" Alfred says kindly, before the boy can aggravate Bruce. Harvey and Rachel are raw nerves, just waiting to be pressed, but the aftermath is not something Alfred cares to deal with. "He is just a force of nature. You wouldn't question Joker for his motivations any more than you would an earthquake or a tornado."

"Right," John decides to stop for Bruce's sake. "Force of nature, no reason for destruction."

"He is obsessed with Batman." Bruce says.

"Isn't everyone, sir?"

"Well," Bruce thinks about his last encounter with Joker. "He takes it to a new level."

"Should I be worried?" John is making what Bruce calls his 'thinking face.' "About him coming after you?"

"Well, of course." Alfred has that tell-tale gleam in his eyes. "With Master Bruce the battered mess he is, you are going to have to defend him from the insane clown."

"Alfred." Bruce frowns, "John is right. He is not safe with me here."

"I didn't say that." John says quickly, to Alfred's amusement. "I just need to know if I should be worried."

"Well, you should." Bruce says, "Joker is out there somewhere, and sooner or later, he will come for me."

"And there're others," Alfred adds, "We don't know where Bane is, and there's always Scarecrow waiting for a chance to off Batman."

"They don't even know you are alive," John laughs nervously, he does not like where this is going. He will be damned before he lets Bruce leave. "They are probably still celebrating."

Alfred nods in agreement; letting John have one small victory. "The Scarecrow has been throwing parties non-stop. Penguin and Killer Croc have been spotted dancing in the streets."

"You are making that up." Bruce gives Alfred a look. "No way."

"Ask Lucius."

"He is even less trust-worthy than you."

"There is no problem with the living arrangements we agreed upon." John gives Alfred his most intimidating stare. "Bruce is fine where he is."

Alfred smiles at John indulgently. "Of course."

"There is one good thing to come out of all this." John winces when he thinks of last night. "The police force has doubled in size, and a lot of escaped prisoners have been apprehended."

"Temporarily." Bruce says regretfully. "Without the Dent Act, nothing will keep them in prison. Their lawyers will spring them out faster than we can blink."

"Master Bruce, you do realize most of the new police officers are from your cult?"

"It's not my cult, Alfred."

"When you are the God, it's your cult."

"Gordon shouldn't have allowed those people to join. They are not mentally well." Bruce spent an hour trying to convince the Commissioner to reconsider. "Apparently, GCPD is too desperate."

"With all due respect, you have no right to question anyone's sanity, sir." Alfred says.

"And worshiping Batman doesn't make them evil." John says.

"You would know." Alfred smiles at John sweetly.

John doesn't care if he blushes. At this point, it's become more of a habit than anything else. It's the risk he takes in Alfred's company. "To make an honest assessment, we need to do more research, more proof to call them good or bad."

"You were with me last night. You saw these people and their behavior." Bruce shudders when remembers the chants and the praying. "They should not be allowed into the police force. They should not be issued badges and guns. They need to be institutionalized."

"You are condemning them to a life of mental illness, just because they adore you? What an odd response to love."

"Batman is a symbol," Bruce turns his body toward Alfred. "You understand him more than anyone. Do you really think he deserves to be put on a pedestal like this?"

"All I know," Alfred doesn't care how stubborn or childish he sounds, "is that the child I raised saved hundreds of thousands of people by selflessly putting his own existence at risk. And if these people can get off their lazy behinds and kneel in gratitude, then they should very well do so."

"You are being too emotional, if you could only..."

"What?" Alfred glares, "Remove my heart from the situation? Conveniently forget that you handled an _atomic bomb _for these people?"

"Their intentions aren't pure, Alfred." Bruce's voice is soft and gentle, like dealing with a fragile bird. John finds the relationship dynamic fascinating. "They don't love me. They are after something, and we have to stop them. I cannot let them commit some kind of heinous crime in my name."

"Be that as it may," Alfred doesn't stop glowering, "This city owes you its life. This city is standing, breathing, continuing because of you. You are its saviour. Like it or not, it's a title you are going to have to get used to."

"Saviour." Bruce chuckles under his breath, "What a freaky word."

"It's kinda cool." John says, "Makes you sound like some kind of god."

"I don't want to be a god." Bruce says with exasperation. "I understand this sounds crazy coming from a guy who dresses up like a giant bat, but I don't want this kind of attention."

"Well, tell that to your followers." Alfred suggests casually.

"While they are praying to the heavens." John adds, "You should have seen them Alfred, they are such an organized religion."

"A cult. It's a damn cult." Bruce corrects John.

"But not for long," Alfred points to the TV. "They made a very public appeal this morning. They want to be considered an official religion."

"I bet it's for tax purposes." John shakes his head. "Religious groups don't have to pay taxes."

"Why do they even have taxes? What are they doing?" Bruce asks, and then quickly adds. "Never mind, I don't want to know. I don't think I can handle it right now."

"Of all the things you have dealt with," Alfred gives Bruce a calm look, "this is certainly not the worst."

"We don't know that yet."

"Oh, just enjoy your life for once, you spoiled brat."

"I love you too, Alfred."

* * *

Some nights, when John is completely convinced that his new roommate is fast asleep, he looks up pictures of Bruce Wayne on the internet.

He never saves any on his computer, and meticulously erases his search history after. He even cleanses his hard-drive every week, using a different software every time, just to be safe.

The internet is full of photos from every angle, every stage of Bruce's life, minus the periods he went into hiding.

_I can't believe I figured it out. _John tells himself. _I don't know how he is Batman. _

Bruce Wayne is light and airy. Missing that special quality that makes one human. He is playful and lazy. A spoiled prince, who hasn't worked a single day in his life. Those blue eyes are so full of vulnerability and softness. John Blake is convinced he can break this Bruce, and put him back together again.

Other times, when Bruce is in extremely deep sleep, too exhausted to suddenly come outside and catch his friend in the act, John looks up pictures of Batman.

John wouldn't bother trying to remove Batman's suit. He isn't allowed. All he can do is let the caped crusader use him as he sees fit. Long and hard, against a wall of the cave, or an alley, or wherever Batman pleases. It's really not up to John. He doesn't get to make those kinds of important decisions, where and how and how long. He is just a convenience, a place where Batman releases all his frustrations, the rage that still lingers, even after the latest supervillain has gone home.

When the fucking is over, John will help Batman undress, and get Bruce under the shower, sweaty and exhausted. He will then carry Bruce upstairs, and tuck him in sheets as soft as he is. And if Bruce tugs John down into his arms, where they can fall asleep together, John will not dare disobey. Bruce Wayne is used to getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it.

* * *

"You look fantastic this morning." Bruce gives John a pleasant look. "New moisturizer?"

"I have never used any moisturizer in my entire life." John says dryly, "But thank you for the compliment."

"You don't use moisturizer?" Bruce says incredulously. "Well, damn. Lucky! I get so dry if I don't use any. I wish I could go without the thing."

When John was in the police force (hundreds and hundreds of years ago), his fellow officers – the married ones anyway – often warned him about women, and how they take over your life, and your house. Now that John has a million new and mysterious set of products in his bathroom, he understands where his former brothers-in-arms were coming from.

Moisturizers were just the beginning. Slowly and steadily, new chemicals started taking over the bathroom, until John begged Bruce to just _let me have a damn corner to myself, for the love of God, I just need to know where my razor is. _

There are categories to Bruce's care, distinct categories with at least six different products in each: shaving, skin care, hair care, over-all body care, and of course, fragrances.

_You are lucky, _Bruce had said, _I don't care about my appearance as much as I used to. You would have had to build me a new bathroom if I was still the Bruce Wayne of the past._

Of course, John had a panic attack and stupidly called Alfred, who had told him: _Well, my new apartment has two bathrooms. Master Bruce cannot be expected to share with anyone. _

"You know," Bruce says, staring at John carefully. "You have some days, when you just get even more good-looking. Certain days of the week, you look relaxed, and happy. Like you don't have a care in the world."

_That would be because I masturbated to your pictures last night. _John gives Bruce a blank look. "I have no idea what you mean." _Sexual release, especially when I am thinking of you, does wonders for my body._

"You looked normal yesterday," Bruce says, "and you are just glowing today. I don't know. It's your face, you should know it better."

John shrugs, "I don't feel any different." _I dare Bane to show up today, I will take him down. _"Same old John Blake."

"Must be me." Bruce shrugs as he pours himself some coffee, "Maybe I am seeing things."

John eyes Bruce's back, where his shirt has ridden up, and a sliver of skin is visible, there is a hint of a scar which disappears in the black boxers Bruce sleeps in. John would like to trace that scar with his tongue, see where it goes, to Bruce's dick? _Which he would totally swallow, yummy. _Or his entrance, _which John will rim until Bruce passes out. _

"I actually feel well-rested today," Bruce stretches his body languidly after downing his coffee. "I love my beauty sleep."

_I wouldn't survive living with you without my secret solo sex sessions. _John tells Bruce in his head. _Look what you have done to me._

"What?" Bruce turns around to find John staring at him vacantly, his pupils dilated. "Are you okay?"

"Like a snowball in hell." John thinks about his dick, which he enthusiastically tugged so hard last night, it won't even twitch to the sight of Bruce's skin and boxers. It just chafes horribly. John is surprised it hasn't fallen off.

Bruce's features may be scarred, but they still inspire the same kind of emotional response from John that the internet pictures of a deceased Bruce Wayne do. "Maybe you should go to a doctor? You have been turning red a lot lately."

"It's hereditary."

"You are an orphan, how would you know?"

"Oh just leave it." John snaps. "If I am feverish, I have every right to be." _Take your sexy body away from my sight unless you are going to let me blow you. _

"Alright," Bruce frowns. "Sorry."

_Oh look what you have done. _John viciously snaps at himself. _You made the pretty man sad. _"Sorry Bruce, just feeling cranky. My bad."

Bruce smiles gently. "It's alright, we all have those days where we look great but feel like shit. It's normal."

_I have touched my dick more in the past three months of living with you, than I have my entire existence before that. There is nothing normal about my deviant behaviour. _"Thanks Bruce, I am glad you understand."


	5. Chapter 5

Gordon is fully aware of the ramifications of hiring cult members for GCPD but it feels so good to have that asshole mayor off his ass, he lets it slide. That doesn't mean he forgets or forgives the spectacle those idiots made outside Chad Channing's house. Sending Blake after the bastards seems like a suitable revenge.

"With all due respect, Commissioner," John injects as much venom into his voice as possible, "I don't work for you, not anymore."

"Son," Gordon gives John a kind smile. "Don't make me plant drugs in your apartment just to bring you in for questioning. Let's not go down that road."

Now if John was living alone, he would have happily ignored the threat. Unfortunately, he is harboring a deceased vigilante. "Shame on you for threatening me."

"Hey," Gordon shrugs. "What's shame ever done for anyone?"

* * *

"If you think for a damn second, that I am going to let you walk into that cult alone, you are a moron." Bruce is using his angry voice. His arms are crossed on his chest.

John is actually getting very better at _not _thinking sexy thoughts all the time. Even his dick has stopped feeling like a chafed, raw wound. "A scarred man showing up anywhere is inconspicuous."

"I'll wear makeup."

"Bruce Wayne is dead."

"I will..."

"Believe it or not," John gives Bruce a tender smile. "I am actually capable of taking care of myself."

"These people are dangerous." Bruce argues, his voice sends shivers up and down John's spine. "They are demon-worshippers."

"They worship you."

"My ass," Bruce says, irritated. He does not appreciate his name being linked to these psychos. It's like being in the League of Shadows all over again, only this time, instead of physical perfection and destruction, money seems to be the Holy Grail. "They have dollar signs in their eyes."

"I will be fine." John promises. "This isn't my first time going undercover."

"Undercover?" Bruce's eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. "No one said anything about undercover. I thought you would be going there in an official capacity."

"They won't talk to police officers."

"They _are _police officers." Bruce wants to yell and throw things. "They are a part of GCPD."

"And every time they are questioned about their religion..."

"Cult. It's a damn cult."

"They shut down. Technically they are right. No one has any right to question their beliefs."

"How can we possibly expect these people to protect Gotham, when they are involved in something so shady?"

"We are extremely short on men." John finds Bruce's concern flattering, relieving. It feels good to have someone so much larger than life standing in front of him acting so worried. "We need as much help as can possibly get."

"You quit." Bruce will resort to emotional blackmail, if he has to. "Your shield got too heavy. Why are you going back on your decision?"

"Bruce..."

"Don't do this. Please."

John really fucking hates his life.

* * *

"I can't do it." John says, as soon as Gordon answers.

"The missus not in agreement?"

John lets out a frustrated sigh. "I don't need his permission to do anything."

"Neither did I. My wife's in Cleveland, by the way."

John growls as Gordon makes a whooshing sound in the phone. "I am not whipped."

"Let me talk to him. See if he will loosen the chain a little."

Bruce starts ranting as soon as John gives him the phone. "How dare you assume you can still boss him around? He does not take direction from you anymore. He is his own person."

"Don't be stupid, Bruce. You can't keep him home like this. He needs work."

Bruce grumbles. "This cult is dangerous. You can let them in the police and I can't stop you. But I will be damned before you put John at risk."

"He is possibly one of the most talented cops I have ever seen. He doesn't need your protection, Bruce."

"Protection," Bruce lets out a breathy laugh. "I am not trying to... I am in no condition to protect anyone..."

"You saved this city. Countless times." Gordon says, with reverence, and makes Bruce even more uncomfortable than he already is.

"Something you not telling me, Commissioner? That damn cult better not be your idea."

"No," Gordon says with good humor, "But if I wasn't afraid of them, I would definitely join. Maybe there is a less intense Batcult out there somewhere."

"So you admit there is a reason to be afraid of them." Bruce fights the urge to shout _Eureka. _"And please don't call them that. For the love of god."

"What? Batcult?"

"Do you want me to cry? Cause I will cry. I will do it."

"Bruce," Gordon says, exasperated, "Please let me borrow your boy for this mission. I can't trust anyone else to do this. My police force has been infiltrated."

"And whose fault is that?"

"I can't stop them from joining based on religious preferences. That would be discrimination."

"It's not a religion. It's a damn cult."

"Be reasonable."

Bruce won't budge. "I dress up like a giant bat and fight crime. I am _not _reasonable."

"I thought you retired."

"Damn it Gordon, no means no!" That said, Bruce hangs up.

"You know," John says, as he watches Bruce glare at the phone. "The only way for you to figure out what these people are all about is to let me go over there and investigate."

"Don't make me hit you." Bruce threatens. "I may be a cripple but I can still seriously hurt you."

"Bruce." John finds the threat endearing. Either this is the beginning of a very abusive relationship, or a love story for the ages.

"John." Bruce doesn't care if he is coming off as a violent asshole. He will take any label, as long as it keeps John out of harm's way.

"How bout we both go together."

Bruce smiles sweetly. "Oh, but I am too scarred and dead."

John sighs, "Then we will bring you back."

* * *

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Mindy, or Mandy, or Selene, or maybe Julia? Melinda? Melissa? asks. "They had a funeral for you and everything."

Bruce is in full playboy mode. "A boy can't get a vacation around here without being declared dead? Imagine my surprise when I come back and no one will let me buy anything. How am I supposed to function without my credit cards?"

"Do you even know anything about Bane's invasion?" It speaks a lot about Bruce's playboy persona that even his supposed fellow airheads are disgusted by his lack of knowledge.

"I hear that name everywhere," Bruce giggles drunkenly. "Who is this Bane guy anyway?"

A chorus of sheer disgusted cries accompanied with a few murderous looks later, Bruce is left standing alone in the middle of his own party.

"I remember," Alfred materializes out of nowhere by his side, "When Bane had his goons openly rob every single one of these people. It's truly strange how quickly they have recovered their wealth."

"It didn't take long for the rich to be themselves again."

"It most definitely does not, sir. Hors d'oeuvre?"

"You need to stop feeding me. I don't work out like I used to. If I get fat, you will leave me for someone younger and prettier."

"I would never." Alfred looks scandalized. "You are the only one for me, sir."

"I feel threatened by John's presence. He might just replace me."

"All the more reason to enjoy the time we have together."

"I am so lucky to have you, Alfred."

"Likewise, sir."

"Should I rescue him?" Bruce says after a few seconds. He is looking in John's direction. Poor kid looks incredibly uncomfortable. "This is so not his natural habitat."

"He is a grown man. He can take care of himself."

"You just love making his life hell don't you?"

Alfred gives Bruce his best _I am just a helpless old man _look and walks away.

Bruce saunters over to John who is talking to a man. Upon closer inspection, it turns out to be TV's Batman.

John looks extremely relieved to see Bruce. The actor, whose job revolves around the successful interpretation and display of facial expressions, doesn't notice.

The guy turns around and gives the newcomer a condescending smile. "Well, if it isn't Bruce Wayne. Back from whatever convenient hole he crawled into during Bane's invasion."

"Hey," Bruce's eyes widen, "I have seen you on TV. You are Batman."

"The one and only." The guy laughs, and Bruce has to give John's hand a tight squeeze to keep him in line. It wouldn't bode well if Bruce's _Look I Am Alive Party _turns into John's _This is my Last Night of Freedom 'cause I have Murdered Someone Party. _

The man is stupidly handsome. High cheekbones, ruggedly masculine jawline coupled with stupidly long lashes and lips so pouty, they actually look plumper in real life than they do on TV.

"Say," Bruce starts strategically placing himself between the man and John. "What's it like playing Batman?"

"I was just telling my new friend here," The guy gives John a lusty look. "It's all in the style."

"Is that right?"

John marvels at the sheer stupidity which takes over Bruce's elegant features. _Brilliant. _

"Batman is all about being a smoking hot babe."

"Batman is about justice." John says with an intensity that excites both men in his company, but for completely different reasons. "Batman is our Saviour. The only thing standing between us and absolute hell."

"What a fanboy," Bruce lets out a carefree chuckle. "Stop being so serious and have champagne, darling."

"Sounds like someone has a thing for Batman." The man, Chord? Channing? Chad... licks his lips.

"Sure," Bruce shrugs, "If you like that kind of vibe. But who has time for all the mental issues? And what about sex? When he is out fighting crime dressed up like a giant bat, you are alone, masturbating by yourself."

"Sex can wait till the morning" John mutters quietly.

"Can it?" Chad leans in expectantly. "How about you hang around for me after the party?"

John smiles sweetly. "Sure, I will wait for you outside your car. Don't keep me waiting."

Chad blows John a kiss before he runs off to meet the latest crop of socialites who have just arrived at the party.

Bruce turns to John. "Do you even know what car he drives?"

"I will give you my first-born son if you keep him away from me for the rest of the night."

* * *

"Did you really have to trash his car?" Lucius shakes his head at John. "Was that _really _necessary?"

"I was with Bruce all night." John says, the look on his face deadly. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"There isn't an orphan in Gotham who wouldn't destroy a car for you." Bruce is smiling proudly. "Well done."

"I have no idea..."

"Stop it, Master John." Alfred says dramatically, "We cannot take the lies anymore."

"You saw the way he was behaving." John bites out after Alfred and Lucius turn their attentions to other things. "He thinks he is Batman."

"So?"

"How dare he?"

Bruce realizes for the first time that John is offended on a deep, personal level.

"He is not worthy."

"He enjoys it." Bruce is staring at the actor, who is passionately explaining to the police officer, a very bored rookie, exactly how much his baby means to him, and the Commissioner better get his best men on it.

"Oh he does." John looks very bitter. "I think I am the seventh person he propositioned tonight."

Bruce smirks. "But using your on screen success to pick up girls..."

"And guys," John adds.

"And guys," Bruce repeats, "Is hardly anything new for actors."

"He's not Batman."

"If it makes him happy," Bruce shrugs, "Who are we to knock it? Let him enjoy it."

"Remember that the next time you lock yourself in the bathroom."

"I am never watching that show again." Bruce winces and then whispers in John's ear. "I have survived an atomic bomb, but his _acting _might just kill me."

A small smile is all he gets for his effort. John still looks tense.

"Batman isn't your property." Bruce says after a while.

"I know that. I would never think that he is."

"He isn't yours to defend."

"He is our Saviour. Our only hope."

"Batman belongs to Gotham." Bruce's smile is again, so miniscule, that John has to strain to see it. "And if Gotham decides to debase and humiliate Batman, by employing this jackass to portray him. Then Gotham has every right."

"The bathroom must be quite a philosophical place."

Bruce sighs, and suddenly, John finds himself standing next to someone who has aged terribly. "Bane has disappeared."

"He hasn't tried anything," John knows how stupid he sounds. "Maybe he's dead."

Bruce finds himself leaning into John. "You really think so?"

"No. He will come for you." John suddenly finds it painful to breathe. Pin pricks sting his lungs.

"Along with the Joker, and every other supervillain out there. Hopefully they won't attack together."

"Can you really see Joker and Bane working together?"

"Well, the Joker is quite friendly. When he isn't killing people. He has a sense of humor about things."

"How charming." John remarks dryly.

"I have no idea how we paid for this party."

John shrugs. "Who cares? Fun and champagne was had by all. And you look very dapper in that suit."

"Is that right?" Bruce smirks and gestures to where Chad is currently throwing a fit of epic proportions. "Hot enough for Batman."

"He wishes he could look like you." John sounds bitter and pissed. "He is an imbecile."

"He makes people happy." Bruce smiles at the actor, like a person would at a particularly retarded child. "After everything Gotham has been through, they deserve a little bit of comic relief. And besides," Bruce's grin widens. "The cult hates him."

"Oh my god." John shakes his head. "They worship you, and you disapprove. And yet this asshole gets your support."

"I am not supporting him." Bruce waves at the actor pleasantly, and gets the finger for his trouble. "I just don't think all the hate is warranted."

John understands Bruce's need to dissociate himself from humanity. If he sees all individuals as equal, he will protect them, as equals. Batman won't differentiate or discriminate between Gothamites.

John Blake has no such limitations. He will hate anyone and everyone he wants. "I should kill him, do us all a favour."

"Bad John," Bruce scolds. "No homicidal thoughts."

TV's Batman chooses that moment to stalk over to Bruce and jabs his finger in the man's chest. "I am never coming to one of your damn parties again, Wayne. I understand you are not rich anymore, but you could have at least sprung for some damn guards. Now my favourite car is ruined, and the police won't even do anything about it."

"Gee Chad," Bruce says, wide-eyed, "My bad. I'll call you a cab."

"Golly, that would be swell Wayne." Chad says, with exaggerated cheerfulness. "Send me home in a smelly cab. That makes up for my ruined car."

Bruce grabs John's wrist, and squeezes it in warning. He can see the thunderous rage from the corner of his eye.

"Babe," Chad turns to John. "My driver will be here to pick me up in a few. How about we wait outside in the moonlight until then?"

"Sorry," John says, his jaw tense with barely restrained growls. "Just found out I am early shift tomorrow."

"Maybe some other time?" No man should be so beautiful. Chad gives John a pouty grin. "I can pick you up when you are done work tomorrow."

"No thanks," John smiles, overly saccharine. "I have to pick up my kids from school, my wife is working late."

"Then how about you get yourself a babysitter? I am sure Wayne here is available." The man is shameless.

"Sure," Bruce grins airily. "I will prepare us a picnic."

"That won't be necessary." John's hand squeezes around Bruce's mid-forearm, where he knows there is a painful bruise, and makes him wince. "I want to spend time with my children."

"Suit yourself." Chad shrugs those broad shoulders, and after one last glare and hiss toward Bruce, makes his exit.

"You would make a great dad." Bruce gives John a bright smile.

"I have never hated anyone this beautiful before." John grits his teeth, his grip around Bruce's forearm extremely tight.

Bruce doesn't even blink at the harsh grip. "Speaking of beauty, my makeup is starting to flake. Twenty-four hour foundation, my ass. I hate drug store brands. Remind me to order some salon quality brands online."

"Sure." John lets go of the muscular arm, but is startled when Bruce grabs his wrist again. "What?"

"Don't have to take everything so seriously all the time." Bruce smiles prettily. "You will give yourself a heart attack."

"Right," John doesn't know what to do with the vision. It's breathtaking.

"Think about it," Bruce shrugs, "We are alive. We get to breathe and live our lives. What's more important than that?"

"I hate him." John shrugs out of the daze Bruce has put him in and glares in the direction Chad went. "He's a terrible person."

"A harmless person," Bruce adds, "Making people happy. Who cares about his personality? Actors aren't meant to be taken so seriously. Lighten up."

"I should go lock myself up in a bathroom. That should teach you a lesson."

Bruce wraps an arm around John's shoulder and starts to lead him toward an exit. "Let's take a walk in the moonlight. Chad had the right idea."

"If you like him so much, why don't you marry him?"

"Nice, just remembered that from second grade?"

Alfred, who is chastising the waiting staff over something, pauses to stare at the two men. The servers take the opportunity to scramble away.

Lucius joins Alfred in studying the pair through the windows. "They look good together."

"Oh don't even start."

"What?" Lucius says innocently. "Just making an observation."

"Any relationship we try to set him up in ends in disaster. We should just take the hint and stop trying. Let him handle his love life for once. Looks like he is doing fine without us."

Bruce says something which makes John throw his hands up in the air and walk away, annoyed.

"Right," Lucius says dryly. "He's doing just fine."

"Do you want another Miranda Tate situation on our hands?"

"No." Lucius mutters. "I would rather the next one not be crazy."

Bruce stares up at the sky, with his hands in his pockets. John comes back a few minutes later, with two folded chairs in his hands. After setting them up, he forces Bruce to sit down next to him.

"His leg's been bothering him all night." Alfred says, "But the brace is helping. He can move without screaming in pain."

Lucius nods. "His makeup is a problem. Too transparent. The scars are obvious."

"Only if you are looking for them."

"He needs something better, with longer hold."

"What he needs is a vacation." Alfred says, "A proper one. With some bloody sunlight. Away from Gotham."

"He's too paranoid right now. He won't leave Gotham."

"We can always drug him and drop him off somewhere."

"Like Mr. Blake would allow that."

"Let's drug him too. He can use some time off."

"Alfred," Lucius chastises. "You said we shouldn't meddle."

"It's not meddling if they aren't aware it's happening."

Bruce and John choose that moment to turn around in their chairs.

Lucius and Alfred don't even bother pretending that they aren't watching. "Should we wave?" Lucius asks Alfred.

Outside John whispers to Bruce. "Why do they keep doing that?"

"Intimidation tactics." Bruce answers. "I think they want something."

"Like what?"

"Who cares," Bruce shrugs. "They will tell us when they are ready."

* * *

A/N: Full version posted on my LJ. MA content excluded for site rules.


	6. Chapter 6

Sometimes, Bruce can't remember a single reason to die, and that scares him. He should be suicidal for so many reasons, but all he wants is to live. Live and conquer everything and anything there is. Every day, Bruce's ability to _pretend _lessens. Every day, he gets one step closer to the edge. Every day, Batman takes over a little bit more of Bruce's mind.

John is everything Bruce isn't. Eager, hopeful, dedicated… Alive. The sheer humanity which defines a person is missing in Bruce, and somehow, John has it in such an overwhelmingly large quality that it takes Bruce's breath away.

"Train me." John begs Bruce every morning, before they can even exchange pleasantries. "I can be like you."

_Why? _Bruce thinks. _You're a real person…_

The sky is beautifully clear, and the sun shines so perfectly bright, even the most battered victims of Bane's invasion can't help but smile. Couples hold hands on the street. Children honest to god frolic, and Batman is everywhere. On window sills, on shop signs, even car bumpers and propaganda posters for the damn cult, Bruce sees himself. The very sight is as bewildering as it is fantastical.

Currently, they are walking the streets of Gotham, looking for… something. Bruce doesn't care. It feels absolutely heavenly to use his legs again without wanting to curl into a ball and howl. The new brace Lucius has designed is miraculous, functioning on a combination of gel capsules and some kind of constant anti-inflammatory release, which was inspired by Bane's mask. Batman is offended. Bruce doesn't care. Beggars can't be choosers.

John talks constantly, perfectly content to keep the conversation flowing by himself. Animated and lively, the man has enough energy for ten people. Bruce feels tired just looking at all the… bounciness. The cheerfulness. It seems that John is perfectly content to be just _near _Bruce. Which makes sense. Now that Bruce has more pieces of the puzzle.

Walking in on a person masturbating is awkward. Walking in on a person masturbating to your own pictures… a new height of insanity that Batman doesn't bother himself with, but Bruce finds it… flattering. And disturbing. It doesn`t make sense. In broad daylight, the kid gives no indication of any kind of attraction to Bruce. No blushing, no change in breathing patterns. Either the kid is a seriously accomplished liar, or a sociopath. Bruce knows many detectives, but none of them have pretending skills this advanced.

John hadn`t noticed. He was so busy staring at Bruce Wayne`s (circa 2005 – obsolete) pictures, he hadn`t realized the real thing standing was just a few steps away. Bruce had watched for a while, feeling oddly numb and then gone back to bed.

John can hide his natural, physiological responses to Bruce`s presence, but the overprotective alpha male behavior when anyone dares step near Bruce; the sheer joy on his features when Bruce enters the room. Batman the detective may have missed the clues, but Bruce Wayne the human being sees the attraction loud and clear, now that he is actually looking for it. The very revelation is stunning… and extremely disappointing. Instead of looking for a nice, young girl to settle down with, the kid wants an older man with enough issues to put a psychiatrist's children through grad school.

"…I was hoping we could get something to eat after." John says, "What do you think?"

Bruce seems to have missed whatever John has planned for the day, but nods anyway. It's better to just go along with the kid, then to dare argue with all the… bounciness. So much bounciness.

John gives Bruce a grin so bright it could outshine the sun. "Thanks Bruce. I really appreciate it."

Bruce doesn't know what he's agreed to, but it's worth it. Just to see the kid smile. The kid doesn't smile enough.

* * *

Lucius thinks Alfred hates his cooking. Lucius doesn't care. Lucius thinks Alfred's food is pretty overrated itself and tastes like cardboard. At least Lucius dares to put some flavour into his food.

Lucius' home is all sleek lines and gadgets. Everywhere. Alfred thinks it's stupid the way every little thing has to be the most supreme version of itself. For example, instead of having a simple coffeemaker, or at least something that can be operated by civilians, there is a contraption that brews twenty different cups of coffee in twenty different styles at the same time. When Alfred had asked when Lucius would have to make twenty cups of coffee, the man had said something about Bruce's cult ever coming over, and being prepared for them. Because Lucius wants to make a good impression. How Alfred goes even five minutes without hitting the man is beyond him.

After having lunch, and then drinks, they are lounging in Lucius' balcony, well, Lucius is. Alfred is pacing in the background, being irritating and complaining nonstop.

"Where are they?" Alfred asks Lucius. "We haven't seen then all day. It's not a good idea to leave them unsupervised."

_He is so whiny. _Lucius thinks but doesn't dare say it in case Alfred has picked some kind of killer martial arts move from Bruce, and knowing the butler, he most likely has. "They are grown men." _Stop being so damn annoying. _"They can take care of themselves. One's an ex-detective. And the other has a cult."

"They are both idiots."

"They are not our problem right now," Lucius stares up at the sunny sky, content. "Let's pretend, just for today, that we are a childfree couple on our honeymoon."

Alfred wrinkles his nose. "I don't like the look Master Bruce has on his face these days. I don't like the compliant attitude. I especially loathe the lifelessness in his eyes."

"He's just sulking." Lucius closes his eyes and stretches out his legs. "All boys sulk. Let his new babysitter handle it. We deserve a vacation."

The chair beside Lucius' looks painfully seductive. It beckons Alfred with its bright colors and perfect placement (directly under the sun). "Maybe I'll just rest for a second."

"You do that." Lucius sighs happily. "You do whatever you want. Enjoy this brief, blessed interlude, before the next crazy tries to burn us to the ground."

Alfred leans back in his chair. "So that's it. We are just going to try and live it up between villainous episodes."

"Pretty much." Lucius is the picture of peace and tranquility. "Now shut up and nap."

"The fair's all set up."

"I want my nap first."

"You are such an old man."

_And you are the fountain of youth. _Lucius doesn't bother responding and lets the silence that follows lull him into sweet sleep.

* * *

"Man," John says more to the cotton candy in his hand than Bruce, "This brings back memories."

Bruce doesn't bother prying. Asking an orphan about their memories is a bad idea. Too many land mines down memory lane.

The fair is tacky and gaudy and everything the people of Gotham need to _forget._

Vendors from all over Gotham are selling their merchandise at overly expensive prices, and citizens from neighboring cities are paying those prices, either out of pity, or charity, or both. Bruce gives the hoodie John has just purchased (after almost punching another young man right in the face because damn it, _This is the last one in my size and you will not take this away from me!) _a resentful look. "You are no friend of mine."

"I look great, and it's so comfortable too, 100% cotton." John cranes his neck and tries to catch a glimpse of the batman logo on his back. "Now I know how you feel when you costume up."

"Not quite the same thing."

Dimples and bright eyes; John looks like a child on Christmas morning. Bruce doesn't remember the last time anyone was this genuinely happy in his presence. Alfred and Lucius are always just kind of relieved and surprised to see him alive. Overwhelming joy is a true novelty.

"I feel like showing off." John says to Bruce when they spot the obligatory _Shoot the Star _game every Gotham fair just has to have. "Prepare to be awed."

"It's probably gaffed." Bruce warns John. "Most fair games are gaffed." As if on cue, a beautiful young girl lets out a frustrated cry when she fails, her girlfriend quietly consoling her.

The carnie gives John the same money-hungry look he gives every customer. "Step right up sir, think yourself a capable aim? You have 100 BBs and the object of the game is to shoot out every bit of the red star off the target with just the BBs you have."

"Yeah, yeah." John hands over the cash, and then turns to Bruce. "Are you watching?"

Bruce nods, and the girl from before and her girlfriend also pause and join the small audience.

John expertly and quickly shoots a circle around the star, and in seconds the star has fallen off, much to the carnie's annoyance. No one's been able to beat this game all morning, but the losing streak ends with John.

"I am awesome." John turns to Bruce and takes the small white bear (clutching a bright red heart in its furry paws) the carnie hands over.

"That was phenomenal." The girl who failed at the same task just a minute ago, walks over to John, and smiles. "Where did you learn how to shoot like that?"

"It's just a BB gun." John shrugs at her, "Real guns are harder."

"You've fired a real gun before?"

"I was a detective with GCPD."

"Wow," the girl's bright blue eyes observe John from head to toe appraisingly, taking in the lean muscular physique and the pretty face "You're not anymore?"

"Lost my vocation I guess."

"I'm Amanda." Her gold curls glimmer in the sunlight, giving her an angelic glow. She leans slightly forward subconsciously, giving John an excellent view of her gorgeous bosom. One hand on a trim waist, the other extends toward John in offering.

"John." When Amanda holds out her hand, he hands her the bear, making her smile even brighter. "Enjoy."

"Thanks." Amanda clutches the bear to her chest. Her girlfriend elbowing her and giggling. "So, John. What do you do now? Besides hanging out with Bruce Wayne?"

"Nothing, just taking a break from life."

"I hear that. We could all use a little bit of time off, after Bane."

"Amanda," the girlfriend smirks at her friend meaningfully.

"Would you boys like to join us?" Amanda ignores her friend, "We were just heading over to the food court they set up over by the east side. I heard they have this new dish from Blüdhaven that is just to die for."

"Maybe some other time." John says, before Bruce can open his mouth. "You ladies have a good afternoon."

"Alright," Amanda says, softly, "Maybe some other time." That said, she walks away, her hips swaying seductively. Her girlfriend follows after giving John a confused look. As if she can't believe he turned a sure thing down. She has probably never seen a guy turn Amanda down before.

Bruce is left standing next to John, surprised at his cold dismissal of a blazingly attractive girl. While John clearly has a serious thing for Bruce, it's odd to not react at all to a girl who has to be a perfect ten on the hotness scale.

"We should go on the rides." John gives the glimmering carousel a disturbingly fond look after watching the pretty girls disappear into the crowd uninterestingly.

"Don't even think about it."

"The rides were always my favourite part," John gives Bruce a puppyish look. "You know, before all the unpleasantness happened and then I ended up in the orphanage."

_You emotionally blackmailing ass. _Bruce thinks. "I am not going on that carousel… If you have a less idiotic ride in mind…"

"Thank you." John quickly hauls Bruce up and starts dragging him across the open field. "You are going to love the Bat."

"The _what?"_ Before Bruce can properly interrogate John, they are already in line, and after spending half an hour waiting in said line, Bruce gives John a look. "I'm not enjoying this."

John doesn't bother acknowledging Bruce's annoyed expression, "This is the best day." He can't remember the last time he was this content with life. When the world was this supremely perfect.

Bruce's makeup is flaking already. He has so much sympathy for women who have to wear this evil on their faces for hours and hours on end. Even salon brand foundation is giving him a headache. The thick layer required to conceal the scars chafes and makes Bruce want to scratch his face even more.

John keeps a subconscious hand on Bruce's elbow, leading him through the line. "You haven't been having any headaches lately, so I think this ride is safe."

"This damn line is giving me a headache."

All of a sudden, the pleasant smile on John's face is gone. "If you don't think you are up for the roller coaster, then we don't have to go.

Bruce frowns, the sudden change in John's behavior hitting him like whiplash.

"Do you have a headache?" John remembers the whole thing with the post-concussion syndrome, the nights Bruce spent, in fetal position, clutching his head, with Alfred beside him, and John pacing outside, pacing until his legs threatened to crumble from sheer exhaustion. "If you do, then there is no reason to go on the Bat."

_Why did they have to call the ride that? _Bruce thinks bitterly, "We have been waiting in this line for thirty-six minutes." _And sixteen seconds. _Batman has been keeping count. "I'm not turning back now."

"Screw the line, damn it Bruce," John looks so worried, Bruce feels worried about the kid. "Tell me you're okay."

"I am fine." Bruce rolls his eyes at the hand which tightens on his elbow. "Stop being a mother hen."

Before John can continue with his overprotective rambling, they are already at the front of the line. Bruce finds himself quickly paying for two tickets before John can change his mind in an attempt to coddle him.

Batman suddenly realizes that this is an opportunity to study John in a manner in which he otherwise would not get a chance. Roller coasters bring out the fear in people, and so far, Bruce has never seen John afraid. Fiercely determined and possessive, but never afraid.

The thing is ugly, meant to look like a giant bat, but somehow only coming off as a huge, offensive mass. "Alfred was right," Bruce mumbles to himself. "I should sue."

The ride is fairly entertaining. It begins with a sudden drop into pitch black darkness, before entering a slow heartline roll. Within just two seconds, the car is launched by liner motors, down a long tunnel, (Batman bets sixty-four meters) at a satisfying speed (sixty-nine miles-per-hour). It then exits out of the station building, and into a large, inexplicably inverted, _Bat Cowl_. After a banana roll, a corkscrew and two airtime hills, John cannot stop screaming. Bruce who keeps his index finger pressed against John's right wrist the entire time, is disturbed to find no change in pulse rate. John's heartbeat never increases during the ride. When the hysterical, screaming riders are taken up a 45 meter hill, John's trembling hand catches Bruce's in a tight grip. Once the car is released from the top of the stupidly high hill at an angle of 121°, beyond vertical drop, Bruce finds himself clutching back just as hard.

Even though the entire ride is over in two minutes, the tense, mature, responsible John Bruce has been cohabitating with disappears. Instead, a young man emerges, laughing merrily. "That was fucking amazing!" John says, giggling. "I needed that so bad." The clean, pressed appearance is disheveled. The inner child reveals itself.

Bruce places his fingers on John's elbow under the pretense of steadying the younger man, and yet actually measuring his brachial pulse, and is surprised to find that the blood is still flowing at the steady, 75 beats per minute it was flowing at before.

"Thanks Bruce," John lets the man lead him in a random direction, "Thank you."

"Sure," Bruce's heart is hammering in his chest, and he shares a brain with Batman. John looks drunk with happiness, and his vital signs are unchanged. Troubling, and sad. _He is a sociopath._ Batman whispers in Bruce's ears. _What other explanation is there?_

Bruce doesn't let himself ponder on it too much. _I was the same way when I was his age. _Is Bruce's justification for John's lack of vital response to what is a very stressful activity on human bodies, no matter how enjoyable they find it. _It's normal in his line of work. _

_It's not human. _Batman whispers back viciously. _He isn't human. _

John finally manages to calm himself, but laughs escape involuntarily. "That was perfect."

_Just like your heartbeat._ Both Batman and Bruce think, unanimously. _Like clockwork. _

"Are you okay?" John suddenly remembers who he is, overprotective companion, and stares into Bruce's eyes, checking his pupils. The expression on Bruce's overly perfect face (thank you makeup) is troubled. "There's a medical tent set up around here. It's no hospital but we can get you checked out for anything acute."

_He doesn't know he's doing it._ Bruce says to Batman. _So effortlessly controlling his heartbeat. It's subconscious._

_It's still dangerous. _

"Bruce?" John's warm brown eyes melt like chocolate, "Please talk to me."

_What the hell is he? _Batman asks Bruce. _Is there an explanation for this?_

Bruce doesn't answer, and performs another experiment. After making sure his fingers are on John's wrist again under the pretense of grabbing his hand,Bruce places his other hand on his forehead and puts on his most helpless face. "I feel dizzy." He whispers, with drunken eyes, while Batman watches John like a hawk. "I think I need to sit down."

A spike. All of a sudden John's heartbeat quickens to a speed so fast, even Batman has trouble keeping up with it. It thunders underneath Bruce's fingers, blood rushing through delicate veins at breakneck speed.

"Right away Bruce," John says, panicking. "Just relax."

Bruce lets John sit him down on a nearby bench, while the fair goes on around them, glimmering lights unconcerned with anything going on in their midst.

"I'm so sorry I put you through this." John says, remorseful. "Your headaches have up and disappeared, I thought the ride would be a breeze."

"Don't worry about it."

"Do you want to go home?" John says, the childish happiness gone, replaced with the solemn, responsible caretaker Bruce regularly deals with.

_What the hell is all this? _Batman asks again, as if Bruce has any kind of an answer for him. _What trickery is this? _

Bruce doesn't answer - he cannot answer - just gestures toward the temporary café with the large group of people waiting in front. "Actually, I think it's just a caffeine headache. You up for another obscenely long line?"

"Of course." Bruce is rewarded with a luminous grin. "Absolutely."

Before Bruce can even think of getting up, John places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You just relax. I'll be back in a minute." That said, John walks over to the line, a man on a mission, long legs fast and efficient.

Bruce is left staring after him. Batman studies John like a particularly interesting specimen. _He's dangerous. _Batman whispers again.

_Not to us. _Is Bruce's response. _He'd move the heavens for us. _

John waits in line for twenty-two minutes, for a cup of coffee. And when it's his turn to order, he tells the barista exactly how Bruce takes his coffee, with a pleasant smile on his face, all the while thinking _you fuck up this coffee, and I'll fuck you up._

* * *

The fair's in full swing by the time Lucius and Alfred get there. The crowd is smiling, children running around, most of them wearing some kind of paper batman cowls which are selling like hotcakes. The vendors are making a fortune on anything that even has a hint of batman on it. There is a stupidly long line near ever tent. Alfred is convinced that when people get into a line, they don't even check what they are in line for. They just want to shop.

"Look," Lucius whispers to Alfred, who is deliberating whether or not he should get cotton candy, is it really wise to risk a hyper Lucius? "It's dumb and dumber." John and Bruce are sitting on a bench, drinking coffee.

"Who's dumber?" Alfred asks his companion.

"Depends on the time of day and the location of the moon relative to the tides." Is Lucius' cheeky response.

"Should we go over to them?"

"No," Lucius rolls his eyes, "Let's stand here and watch them like creepy old men."

Alfred makes a face at Lucius, but follows him over to the men nonetheless. Bruce is quietly sipping his coffee, while John talks to him animatedly. For a young man of only thirty, he seems to have an infinite number of stories to tell. They both look happy and healthy, with a quiet glow about them that seems to separate them from the rest of the crowd. Alfred finds himself wishing for a camera, just so he can capture this ethereal moment.

"Alfred, Lucius. You made it."

"Indeed we did, Master Bruce." Alfred says, "How's your date going?"

John makes a sputtering noise, which will never stop being insanely hilarious no matter how many times he makes it. Alfred, Lucius and Bruce wait patiently for John to stop.

"Alfred," Bruce chastises his butler, "Don't do it when he's drinking or eating, he might choke to death."

"It's so funny." Alfred gestures to John, who is beet red, and coughing. "It's so easy and enjoyable."

"Alfred," Lucius turns to the man he is convinced is the devil. "Bruce's right. It's a safety hazard."

"Would it kill you to take my side?" Alfred gives Lucius a betrayed, gutted look. "Just once, take my bloody side."

"You're a menace. It's better to control you than join you."

"Dinner?" Bruce interrupts the bickering with a charming grin. "That restaurant we like reopened."

"We don't have reservations." Alfred says, "They won't let us in without reservations."

"You let me worry about reservations." Lucius says, "Let's go now, before Chad Channing shows up. He's supposed to make an appearance tonight."

The look on Alfred's face is that of hideous disgust, which is mirrored on John's face. "I still think we should talk to a lawyer."

"No one's talking to a lawyer." Bruce warns.

"I know some very good attorneys if you're interested." John tells Alfred.

"No lawyers."

"Seriously, let's go." Lucius says impatiently. "We can have this fight at a nice, candlelit table."

"How romantic." Is Alfred's dry response.

When Bruce gets up, stiffly, John hovers around him, both to Alfred and Lucius's amusement.

"Is the brace working alright?" Lucius asks, "I can take another look at it if it isn't."

"The brace is pure magic." Bruce smiles at Lucius. "My leg feels brand new."

It takes Bruce a second to steady himself, with John standing right beside him, ready to catch him should he fall. Those brown eyes blazing with worry.

"This is getting ridiculous." Lucius tells Alfred, who nods agreeably. "He might as well urinate a circle around Bruce and mark his territory."

"It's one of those zoo specials." Alfred whispers back. "When a puppy and a lion cub become best friends, and then the puppy guards the lion cub and it's adorable."

"Stop talking about us when we're right here." Bruce chastises. "It's not polite."

"They're talking about us?"

"They talk about us all the time." Bruce wrinkles his nose. "They are obsessed with us."

"Excuse you." Alfred makes a face.

"The only thing Alfred's obsessed with is himself."

"That's it." Alfred moves toward Lucius threateningly who quickly moves away and starts quickly walking toward the restaurant. "You will suffer my wrath, Fox."

"Shall we?" Bruce asks John, who is smiling fondly. "Stop them before they get in trouble?"

"I don't know how we could." John starts walking by Bruce's side. "But it's worth a try."

* * *

When John and Bruce get home, they are greeted with the joyful laughter of children. Bruce knows he should get used to children constantly coming in and out of John's apartment like they own the place, but is startled at the sight of four young boys nonetheless, helping themselves to John's food.

"Hey guys," John smiles at the boys. "Look what we got for you." He holds up a bag full of clothes for his friends.

The kids light up, and take the bag from John, letting out excited laughs when they find new hoodies.

"I hope I got your sizes right this time," John starts cleaning up after his guests, throwing away candy wrappers and putting leftover fruit in the fridge.

"Nice," The boy who Bruce identifies as Cody holds up the hoodie in his hand, one identical to the one John is wearing, Batman logo and all.

"Hmm," The one called Mark, narrows his eyes at the logo on the back of his hoodie critically, "I don't think they got this right." The child then turns to Bruce, and gives him a shrewd look. "What do you think?"

Bruce frowns at the child, while John sighs, "The logo is fine, Mark."

"Damn," Another child, a little older than Cody and Mark, eyes the stitching and the quality of the thing with wonder. Something inside Bruce dies forever at seeing children fawn over basic clothing. "I will be stashing mine here, bruh. No way am I gonna be able to keep this thing if Andrew sees it."

"Andrew?" Bruce asks.

"Our bully, Mr. Wayne." The boy replies politely. His fellow orphans treat Bruce with quite a lot of respect. "Every boys home has one."

"Quite the little asshole." John mumbles. Bruce raises an eyebrow at the swearing. The man has been known to clean his language around children as much as he can.

"Batman's my dad." The youngest child, barely four, looks up at Bruce and informs him. He has his much smaller hoodie in his hand, and the Bat logo makes his face light up.

Bruce nods in agreement. Batman is allegedly the father of at least twenty-four children. And every time they are told otherwise, they kick… hard. Bruce has learned his lesson.

"I'm gonna leave mine here too." Cody and the two other boys hand John their clothing back. "Fuck Andrew and his gang of motherfuckers."

"Language." John reprimands uselessly, but accepts the clothing back, not offended in the slightest.

"Come on, Jamie," Cody tries to take the youngest boy's hoodie, and is rewarded with a petulant and possessive shrug. "You want to lose it? Leave it with John; it's safer here."

"It's mine." Jamie drops to the floor, curling up around the garment protectively. "No!"

"This Andrew won't steal from someone so small, will he?" Bruce looks down at the little boy, who is now in the midst of quite a tantrum.

"Wouldn't put it past him." Cody sighs as he is kicked in the shin with a tiny leg, hard. "Come on Jamie, we have to be back in time for curfew."

"No!" The child whimpers. "Batman!"

"Let him keep it." John's smile is tight when he speaks. "He won't part with it."

"I want Batman!" Jamie shrieks out at Cody's one last attempt to free him from his new hoodie.

Bruce steps away from the wriggling boy, very afraid of the feral look in his eyes.

"Home is like forty minutes away," Cody tries to reason with the younger boy, "You are just wasting time now."

"There is a shorter way," Bruce says. The Thomas and Martha Wayne Children's Home did used to be his place of residence; and as Gotham's vigilante, he knows every shortcut the city has to offer. "If you turn right at Murky Street instead of left at Bertran like you usually do, you will cut your walk in half."

"Sir," Cody hauls Jamie up, who looks ready to fight everyone in the room, including Bruce and John, if he has to, to protect his hoodie. "Thank you."

Bruce grimaces at Jamie's hateful expression. No child should ever look so angry over clothing of all things.

"No one is taking your hoodie, Jamie." John says soothingly, "Now run along, all of you. Father Reilly will throw a fit if you're late."

"Should they be walking home alone?" Bruce feels stupid when five pairs of amused eyes turn to him. "Is that safe?"

"With all due respect, sir." Cody tone implies that he is talking to a very stupid nobleman, "We've been walking these streets for years, we'll be fine."

"What happens if you are jumped or something?" Bruce asks, concerned.

"Batman, silly." Jamie has shrugged himself into his hoodie, and Mark, the one boy who always watches Bruce strangely is fixing it for him.

"Right," Cody sighs as the forth boy laughs at Jamie, "Batman will come save us." And then mutters so softly that only John, who is standing right beside him, hears. "He'll come back from the dead alright."

"Don't," John warns. The last time someone had mentioned Batman's death around Jamie, the boy had thrown the hissy fits to end all hissy fits. "Watch your mouth."

"We should get going," Cody nods at Bruce, "Sir." That said, he gives John a hug, one armed and manly of course, and walks out the door, Jamie's hand in his, the oldest boy following them.

Only Mark lingers behind, staring at his own feet.

"Can we help you kiddo?" John asks gently, "Go on with your friends, it's not safe for you to walk home all alone."

Mark looks up at Bruce, about to say something, and then stops himself. "Have a good night." He says instead, and follows his friends outside.

"He thinks you are Batman," John recognizes the look on Mark's face, it's the same one he saw in the mirror, the day Bruce came to visit with his bimbo, years ago.

"Of course he does." Bruce throws his hands up, and heads toward the bathroom. His makeup is seriously itching.

"I didn't say anything," John says defensively, "I swear."

"I know you didn't." Bruce calls out, cleanser and moisturiser in his hand. "But the kid definitely knows. He won't talk, will he?"

"No," John says, troubled, "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"I don't know." Bruce stares at the scars, oddly more comfortable with them visible than not. "You've known him longer than I have."

"Mark is…" John is surprised at how little he actually knows about the boy. "All alone. His brother passed away, and washed up outside the sewers one morning. I found him."

"Can he keep a secret?"

John's breathe hitches when Bruce comes out of the bathroom, scars and all.

"The number of people who know my secret is growing every single day." Bruce says, his voice gravely serious. "While I trust the three men who have always protected me… and you." Something dead inside John comes back to life at Bruce's last addition. "I can't trust a stranger."

"He is more trustworthy than the Cat, but you trusted her." John defends Mark.

"Everyone is more trustworthy than the Cat."

"He won't tell anyone." John vows, "He has no proof and no one will believe him anyway."

"Fine, we will deal with the boy tomorrow," Bruce says, and after a moment's pause, starts walking toward John with a determined look on his face.

"Bruce?" John starts walking backward subconsciously. He is eventually forced to stop because of the wall's interference.

"I experimented with guys back in the day." Bruce rolls his shoulders back and forth, as if preparing for a marathon. "But I didn't really care for it. But I think I can make it work with you."

"Oh god, what's happening?" John seems to have frozen in place, possibly in hopes of fooling Bruce into thinking he has died.

"I don't know if you have daddy issues, or whatever," Bruce cocks his head to the side, "Is that what this is? Does this qualify? I am about a decade older than you; can we really put this in the daddy issues category?"

"Seriously, what's happening?" John plasters his back against the wall, wishing he could go through it and disappear into the night.

"Is it the Batman thing?" Bruce seems to be having a conversation with himself, trying to figure John out. "Or the money thing? I don't even have any money, Alfred has it all."

John briefly entertains the idea of slipping toward the door when Bruce is having his inner thoughts out loud, but quickly discards the idea when he sees Bruce's eyes track him even when he makes a minute movement.

"Why look up my outdated pictures on the internet when I am _literally_ in your bed every night?"

John knows he should be ashamed, and mortified. And if he had any kind of self-respect, he would run out the door right now, never to be seen by civilization again.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Would you?"

"No." Bruce answers, way too quickly for both his and John's comfort.

"Then why do you expect any different from me?"

"I thought you had more sense." Bruce suddenly feels very defensive. "I thought you were better than that."

"Well, apparently I'm not." John doesn't exactly get why Bruce is behaving this way. He would like to find the nearest cliff and throw himself off of it.

Bruce thinks of Rachel, of all the women in his life, who moved on to their deaths. He thinks of Selina, and watching her walk away. Letting her leave with the Clean Slate, erasing her off the face of the planet, with no hopes of ever tracing her.

He looks at John, who has been obsessed with someone, _something, Batman doesn't qualify as human,_ for god knows how long, and is just a few feet away. Bruce thinks of all the happily ever afters he could have had, and watching each opportunity up and disappear along with his humanity. And the thought that the same thing which has happened to him over and over again, can happen to this kid. Who is nothing but _good _alarms Bruce to no end.

"Is it too late to deny the whole thing?" John says meekly. "Is it too late to go back to the platonic bromance stage we were at this afternoon?"

"I can't unsee what I saw the other night."

"Sure you can!" John urges, "I unsee things all the time."

"I expected better from you, John." Bruce looks so disappointed, so hurt. "Why would you not tell me this?"

"Because it's nothing serious. It's just a batcrush. Everybody has one right now. With the whole savior thing and all, and the TV show and the statue and the cult."

"Why do people think it's acceptable to add the prefix _bat _to everything?"

"I don't bat-know. See you bat-tomorrow." That said, John tries opens the living room window, and starts trying to climb out.

"John," Bruce crosses his arms in that extremely attractive way, those blue eyes narrowed, those lips so stern and kissable, "Masturbating in the dark at 4am in the morning is no way to deal with your emotions."

"3:30am." Is John's brilliant counter-argument.

"I am not a suitable match for you, but like I said, we can make this work."

"We can?" One of John's legs is now out the window, dangling enticingly for every stray, rabid dog to gnaw on.

"Yes," Bruce looks as if he has set his mind on a particularly complicated mission. One that is complex, but must be undertaken.

"You're not angry?"

"No."

"I'm gonna need more than monosyllables here, Bruce."

"You will come back inside, and explain this."

"I don't think I can." John makes an irritated face, "I may look well-adjusted Bruce, but I am an orphan, just like you. I may not be as fucked up as you, but I still have emotional issues, that frankly, I don't _want _to understand."

"You masturbate compulsively when I go to bed, and are currently trying to crawl out of the window, because I confronted you about your feelings. You do _not _look well-adjusted from where I am standing."

John doesn't say anything, and starts trying to take his other leg out of the window, silently cursing the small size of the thing.

"We can try." Bruce sighs and sits down, the knee brace is wonderful, but his legs still stings with exhaustion. "It's all I have to offer."

"I don't need your pity."

"You would rather continue with your current nightly activities than pursue a real relationship with me?"

John realizes, when his right leg is successfully out the window, that he doesn't have his wallet. Pathetically, he pats his jeans, hoping to miraculously conjure a debit card, or at least a fifty.

"I have your wallet, John." Is Bruce's tired response to the other's man's frantic searching. "I suggest you come back inside before you freeze to death."

"I will sleep on the streets if I have to." John's voice isn't convincing to himself or Bruce.

"Just talk to me."

Bruce sounds so harmless, so earnest, that John for a damning second contemplates obeying.

"I don't want this to change." Bruce looks around John's modest, ordinary apartment like it's the finest of all accommodations. "I am really enjoying my retirement."

John looks at the savior of Gotham, sitting on his couch, defeated and tired, and sighs. "Bruce…"

"Do you remember that girl?" Bruce leans back against the cushions, casually, "The one this afternoon. The one you gave the bear to?"

"Amanda," John shrugs, "Sure. The one with the blue eyes."

Bruce sighs. Trust John to notice the only feature she has in common with Bruce. "And the perfect body, and the beautiful face. The warm voice. The young age. The desire in her eyes. The flirtatious manner."

"Woah," John does that thing where he frowns and smiles simultaneously. "What?..."

"She was hitting on you," Bruce looks concerned, "And your brain never even registered it."

"Maybe I'm not attracted to girls."

"Are you attracted to guys?"

"Bruce," John laughs, patient as always with his eccentric roommate, "I think you qualify."

"Regular guys," Bruce disregards John's amused manner, "From your precinct, your boys home, hell, from the media even."

"Maybe I have a one track mind."

"Or maybe," Bruce looks down at the remote, thoughtful, "You have created an idea in your head, and no one, not even the real Bruce Wayne, can satisfy your fantasies."

"Please just hand me my wallet and leave with my last shred of dignity."

"What did you think of Amanda."

John shrugs, using his peripheral vision to scan the room, looking for anything that can help him escape. He remembers leaving a twenty somewhere on the corner table. Of course, it is missing in his hour of need.

"You don't even look at girls. It's not healthy."

"Or maybe I only have eyes for one person." John snaps.

Bruce keeps staring at the remote as if it's the most fascinating thing in the entire universe.

"You saved my world." John thinks of the candelit vigil being held at city hall in Batman's honor tonight, and wishes he could be there, "I would have died with that bomb."

"Along with twelve million other people."

"You took the fall for Dent's murder, just to keep all those bastards in Blackgate…"

"I didn't. Batman did."

"You _are_ Batman."

"Am I?" Bruce forces himself to look up from the remote, "Where do I fit into all of this? You love_ him_."

"You." John says desperately, "All of you."

Bruce looks as if he has had enough of this, "John…"

"I grew up looking up to you, because you suffered the exact pain I did." John thinks of his dead mother, and his mind hands him a blurred picture of a smiling face long gone. He thinks of his father, and the poisonous will to pawn anything and everything for just for another shot at luck. "Your dollars didn't bring your parents back, any more than my prayers did mine."

"We are both orphans. Doesn't make us soul mates."

"Soul mates?" John laughs condescendingly, "You had a soul mate, and you let her walk away."

"Don't bring Selina into this." Bruce warns.

"I just want to be near you." John finally spots the twenty, fallen on the floor, forgotten near the fridge. He doesn't have the strength to dive after it anymore. "Just having you here is more than enough. Believe me."

"So," Bruce says incredulously, "Your plan, is to send me back to your bedroom, and you stay out here on this couch and that's how we spend the rest of our lives. Five feet away."

There is no response, but the hope in John's eyes is more than enough.

"That was my plan too." Bruce thinks of Rachel's picture, the one he has been meaning to go find but never can. "I was going to live walking distance away from her. She would practice her profession. I would run around and save Gotham. We would meet in the middle somewhere, between court hearings and fundraisers."

"What?" John asks, confused. While he is aware of Rachel Dawes, the star attorney who fell victim to Joker eight years past, he, like most of Gotham, is unaware of the beauty that evaded Bruce's charm a lifetime ago.

"What I am saying is," Bruce says tiredly, every scar deeply exaggerated, "I do not approve of your plan. It won't work."

"I just want to be close to you."

"No." Bruce says, resolute. "Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?"

"You can't keep living in this make-believe world you've created for yourself. I want to try and make this work. Maybe we can get this out of your system."

"And if we can't?" John asks, his legs numb, "What if I get hooked?"

"I don't know."

"You think that we can play boyfriends for a week, and I'll go normal? Find myself a nice girl and settle down?"

"It's better than what you're doing now," Bruce gives John an empathic look, "Wasting your time. Precious time you could spend with me."

"This isn't just about Selina, is it?" John says, his voice sounds as if it's coming from far, far away.

"I have so many things to say," Bruce thinks of his parents, of Rachel, of Talia, of Harvey, of Ra's Al Ghul; of the speeches he has prepared in his head, every word deliberated over to perfection, every syllable exactly how he should have said it, when the dead were still walking this earth, "I have no one to say them to. Time waits for no man. If you have something to tell me, let me know, now. Before something takes me away from you, and you are left here alone, with nothing but regrets."

"Bruce." John feels his nails dig into his palm.

"If what you're feeling," Bruce pretends not to notice the wetness of John's eyes, "is strong enough to keep you awake at night, than it's also strong enough to turn malignant, like cancer, if it stays inside you too long, unfulfilled."

"My feelings for you are not cancerous."

"At least you finally acknowledged them," Bruce's smile is minute, "That's progress."

John brings both his legs inside, pins and needles are a welcome relief from the numbing discomfort. After closing the window behind him, he leans against the wall, away from Bruce, trying to hide from those dark blue eyes. "I really do just want to be close to you."

"It's not enough, believe me."

"It is for me."

"That's not a healthy response to love."

"Love isn't supposed to be healthy."

"John…"

"Just stay…"

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving."

"Good," John struggles to keep his breathing even.

"Come on." Bruce gets up, letting the remote fall from his hand onto the cushions. "Let's go." He gestures toward the apartment's only bedroom.

"Bruce…"

"Just sleeping." Bruce raises his hands in the universal gesture for surrender. "We share the apartment, it's only fair we share the bed."

"I'm perfectly fine on the couch."

"Alright," Bruce sits back down, "Then we'll share the couch."

John watches the other man warily, and then let's himself join Bruce, sitting on the other side of the thing, afraid to come near.

"It's okay." Bruce tells John what he tells himself in his dreams, when he time travels back to the past, and meets the Bruce Wayne long gone. "You can have this."

"I don't want you."

"You can tell yourself that all you want," Bruce slides closer to John, slowly and non-threateningly, "And you will even believe it, for a while. But not on your death bed. You can't lie on your death bed. Not even to yourself."

"Promise me."

"What?" Bruce whispers. "I don't have much but you can have it all."

"Promise me that if this is all an elaborate dream, the real you won't visit the boys home tomorrow, and you won't be walking past me, unnoticing, while your supermodel girlfriend glares daggers at me for trying to get close."

Bruce's eyes soften, "I'm sorry I did that."

"I'm sorry I tried to get close." John laughs, breathily, "You were wearing this stupid cologne, and I caught a trace of it, and that's when it began." A short, sad pause, "They say that the sense of smell is the strongest sense."

"It's also the most primal."

"It wasn't cologne," John chokes on something painful stuck in his throat, "You always smell like that, it's your natural scent. It's like coke. I sometimes wait until you go to the bathroom right after you wake up, and smell your pillow."

"I know, I saw you do it this morning."

"God, I'm creepy."

"John, you were all alone, you clung to a public figure. It's normal."

"You are _not _public." John stares at that tired, scarred face, "You are personal. The part of me I have kept hidden for so long."

"Then do something about me."

"You don't feel the same way. How can I possibly accept everything you are offering when it's not even mine to begin with?"

Bruce smiles, "You don't think you deserve me?"

"I don't think we belong together." John looks around his apartment, at the poorly shelved books, the barely there décor, the lack of any kind of familiarity, despite having spent years here. "I'm not exactly what you need."

"And what do I need?" Bruce asks, amused. It's always funny to see people other than Alfred to try to dissect him. "What am I lacking?"

"I don't know, but it sure as hell isn't me."

"John," Bruce looks past the other man's shoulder, out the window, at the waxing moon, "How do you know until you try?"

"I am already regretting this." John leans into Bruce, resting his head against a shoulder, breathing in that scent.

"It's okay to go after what you want."

"It's also okay to think in the best interests of the person you love," John inhales that scent freely, lets it fill his lungs and stimulate his senses. "It's also okay to realize when you are out of your depth."

"I have handlers," Bruce rests a gentle hand on John's head, encouraging the man to breathe even deeper, "Let them think of my best interests. Be selfish, and take what you want."

"I hope the cult slaughters me for this." John sends out a prayer towards the heavens. "I hope they slowly torture me to death. I hope they cut me into a thousand pieces for even _daring _to…"

"I would never let them touch you." Bruce interrupts, the mention of his loyal followers irritating.

"I'm sorry," John's apology is sincere, before he places a soft kiss on Bruce's clavicle, and then his throat, and then his chin.

"Don't be," Bruce murmurs, allowing his roommate access. "You're finally doing something right, for once."

John pulls back from scarred skin, breathing heavily. "What about _him? _Is he okay with this?"

Bruce smiles. Batman has never cared who he sleeps with, as long as it doesn't interfere with the mission. "He's given us his blessing. And if you're a good boy, I might even let you have a taste of him."

"In the bat-mobile, I've always wanted to fuck in the bat-mobile."

"You keep calling it that, and it won't happen."

"That's what the media calls it."

"But around here we call it the tumbler."

"Noted." John smiles, small and slow. "What about Alfred?"

"He's already thinking of ten different ways to annihilate you if you hurt me."

"And Selina?"

Bruce takes a deep breath.

"What if she comes back?" John doesn't dare look into Bruce's eyes, afraid of what he'd see there. "What happens then?"

"Are you threatened by her?"

"Yes." John says frankly. "I am."

"Then you better do something drastic." Bruce takes John's hand in his and squeezes it, tightly, "Before I go running to her."

"I'm so going to regret this." John places a tiny kiss at a corner of Bruce's mouth. "This is going to kill me."

"At least you'll die happy."

"Oh I will definitely die happy."

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this story and the special people who left comments. I am very sorry for the late update. Life gets in the way, and of course, I don't have to tell you. We are all very busy people.


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